


Avalanche

by HappyDagger



Series: Sepia [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Captivity, Control Issues, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jealousy, Loss of Control, M/M, Murder, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Prison, Ramsay is his own warning, Reluctant Masochist, Sadism, Sexual Abuse, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Theon you ignorant slut, Therapy, Unhealthy Relationships, Victim Blaming, Violence, all the abuse, masochist Theon, possessive Ramsay is best Ramsay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2018-11-30 17:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 52,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11467854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyDagger/pseuds/HappyDagger
Summary: Sequel to Sepia.I have begun to long for youI who have no greed;I have begun to ask for youI who have no needYou say you've gone away from meBut I can feel you when you breathe(Avalanche ~ Leonard Cohen)Theon is getting better outside of prison. Ramsay has been getting worse without him.Here comes Ramsay's parole hearing.





	1. Things Have Never Been so Swell

“Stop crying.” His mother was straining in her efforts to appear calm. “I know you’re upset but you have to…” She knelt in front of him and grabbed his arms. Her fingertips creased the sleeves of his stiff, oversized shirt. “Just _smile_. Pretend it’s a game. Hold your breath. That’s right.”

Another door slammed downstairs and something shattered on the tile this time.

Mom looked over her shoulder. More black and silver hair fell out of the swollen bun she wore; loosened by a violent yank, it hung sloppy and frayed to one side. Turning back, she held both Theon’s cheeks now. “Everything’s fine. You’ll go play outside and smile to anyone you talk to because everything is _fine_. Why don’t you go to Robbie’s house?”

“But his mom doesn’t-” before Theon could finish whispering back, Balon threw his bedroom door open. The jolly roger he’d drawn and stuck to the back of the door with gum smiled at him as it wafted then spun to the beige carpet.

His mother was torn away from him, up into the eye of a hurricane. Theon reached for her and lurched forward, panting.

  


His shaking hand grasping for someone wasn’t there.

“Where am I?”

“On the floor.”

Theon launched up into the air and hit something before he understood what was happening, or even realized he was awake.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Loras hit him back, landing a punch in the stomach that Theon barely registered.

He knew it was Loras somewhere, way up in his head, but he couldn’t stop and kept shoving and punching and, low in his stomach, wanted to be torn apart right here and now.

“STOP IT!” Loras swept his legs. The lights flashed on. Theon was in his room -Loras’ guest room- gripping the floor like he was holding back a breaking dam.

“I told you-”

“Shut up.” Loras rubbed his handsome face with both hands. Some of his platinum curls were sticking straight up.

“I…” What was there to say? _I’m just a fucking lunatic. It will happen again. I’m sorry._ “Listen… I can go-”

“Shut up. Just shut up for once. Go back to bed!” Loras crossed his arms.

_Wow, he’s so ripped._ So beautifully intact after everything.  Even his skin was a clean- _perfectly_ untarnished slate! “Fuck! Did I even touch you?!”

Loras smiled reluctantly at Theon’s indignant frustration. “Well, you’re a little bitch.”

Theon laughed because now was absolutely not the time for _Don’t ever call me that again._ “Well shit, I didn’t know you swore.”

“Why do you do that?”

“I told you; don’t surprise me. I’m a fucking Greyjoy; we fight.”

“Uh huh.” Loras rolled his head around slowly, trying to keep something bottled up.

Theon pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “You _don’t_ want me to leave?”

“No. I’ll tell you when I do. You need some kind of medication for your, uh, outbursts.”

“I know.”

“It’s like four in the morning.”

Theon’s voice weakened. “I know. I know.” _I should go._ “And you should give me more space.” Theon looked up now and met his host’s deep blue gaze. “You know, like I do for you.”

“It’s my house.”

“I-”

Loras finally came back from the threshold and stood in front of Theon to study him. “I have work tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Good. I don’t want you to leave yet. Go back to bed.”

“Yeah. Alright. I need a smoke first.”

_“I need a smoke first,”_ Loras parrotted. He shoved Theon playfully before he could finish standing. “Are you worried about tomorrow?” Loras followed Theon onto the balcony.

“Uh, yeah.” _What the hell is tomorrow?_ “I got it though.”

 

The next afternoon was the kind of rainy day Theon used to hate. Now he found refuge under a shroud of gray clouds. Listening to the rain and staring at his laptop, Theon sat willing himself to finally **do** it. He rubbed his forehead, tapped the keyboard then opened his email. _Right, nothing._ Why would there be? _May as well check YouTube, to see… um, how the world is going._

Maybe a beer would be the last thing he needed. No, he’d just take one shot, come back, then he would simply click the bookmark. _No, just do it fast._ He’d get it over with then he could reward himself with a shot. No fucking around the kitchen for an hour trying to find the right liquor, the right shot glass, then tell himself ‘one more shot’ and ‘one more’ after that.

Theon stood to stretch. A stretch would really ready him to clear his mind, then he’ll just spring right into it. But first- “Hey, what do you want to do for dinner?”

Loras closed his laptop as soon as Theon moved. “We’re going to my sister’s, remember?”

“Oh… go out? Again?”

“Yeah. Out, with people and everything. We can do it.”

“Yeah. Heh.” Theon bent over and clicked the icon waiting on his bookmarks bar. Ramsay’s WDOJ page usurped his screen. Ramsay smiled the same way in the same mugshot as every other time.

 

**Current Facility:**

NEWT FIRELL

**Projected Release Date:**

2020-12-10

**Parole Eligibility Date:**

2017-07-17

**Offender Visitation Eligible:**

YES

 

“Shit.”

“I thought you liked my sister.”

When Theon looked over his shoulder, Loras was standing tall and golden. Even his frown sparkled. Theon smiled; he couldn’t help it. “I do like Margaery. You shouldn’t want to me to, though.” He closed his laptop and crossed the clean bright room with his hands in his pockets.

Loras rolled his eyes.“Oh, please.”

 

_This is it. This week. That’s it. This is it._

_“-_ anyway. So, that’s cool, right?”

“Sure.” _Shit!_ What did Loras say?

“Great! Let’s go!”

“Uh, just let me get dressed.”

“You are- oh my god. TEN minutes!”

“Ok, yeah! I got it!” _One week. One week. One week._

He’d have to check again tonight.

_One week. One week. One week._

They couldn’t let him out. He couldn’t … maybe he didn’t remember Theon. He wouldn’t know where Theon was and he couldn’t possibly find out. There just wasn’t enough logic to smother the growing, consuming sense of horrible inevitability.

 

When Loras knocked, Theon was completely dressed standing in front of his dresser.

“Hey, let’s go.” Loras waved impatiently. “What are you doing, anyway?”

Theon had no idea. “Wow, you look great.” Sometimes he got lost in thought and time slipped away without him noticing. Sometimes he would snap out of that feeling like an actor who’d blanked on his lines. Everyone else was taking the ridiculous play so seriously, it was hard not to laugh.

“I look just like I did ten minutes ago.”

“Right, you looked great then too. Ten minutes! Hey, I did it, right?”

Loras grinned and patted Theon’s back to gently push him out. “Yeah, yeah. You’re going to be wonderful.”

 

Theon let his fingers dance on the current. Wind and humidity let him know he was outside Loras’ brownstone for real. He missed driving but he still loved this, his hand flying through town.

“Aren’t you hot?”

“Nope.”

“In that jacket?” Loras’ thick curls bounced and flowed like he was in a music video, like - what the fuck? Often Theon studied him, fascinated. _How does one person get all of this and not even be a dick about it?_

“I want to look professional.”

Loras nodded, somber and patient. “Track marks?”

“Yeah, heh.” Theon cleared his throat and looked back out his window. “ _Old_ ones.”

“Well, they’ll heal.” Loras patted his shoulder again then smoothly exited the highway.

“Hmm,” Theon agreed halfheartedly. “So, what have you been working on all day?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah.” Theon raised both palms and grinned. “Alright. I’m a motherfucker who can mind my business.”

Loras’ Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses must have been calculated to accentuate his broad, straight-white-toothed grin. “That’s why you haven’t been kicked out yet.”

“Yet, yet, yet,” Theon muttered. “Hey!”

The Camaro’s roof began to unfold and fall over the two of them.

“What? It’s going to rain. Look at the sky.”

“Yeah, but… it isn’t yet.”

“We’re nearly there anyway.” Over the last year or so, Loras had really defrosted; regained much of his former color and life. Theon liked watching him bloom, but also felt more, every day, that he was less and less necessary; more in the way.

Even the best purpose is lost once it’s been served.

“So Tarley at noon tomorrow?”

_Fucking damn it!_ How long had he been talking? “Yeah, of course.”

“Good. Great. That’s great, Theon. I’ll uh, have someone take you tomorrow. I think it will help with your, uh, episodes.”

“Ok.” _Oh no._

“Everyone’s on something, you know?” Loras pulled up to a spiraling flowered gate, much larger than his own.

Theon sat up. “Really? Wha- are you?”

Loras’ face wrinkled with a sour expression. “No. Not _me_.”

“Oh.” Theon sank back into his seat. _Right. Of course not._

Loras waved to attendant once his head popped out of the brick window and drove onto the road opening before them. “But… I have my… you know, vices.”

“Sure. Everyone has a drug.” They wove through bending roads, passing one manor after another until, at the end of a cul-de-sac, they reached Margaery Tyrell’s picturesque antebellum plantation.

She’d almost certainly have drinks, and Theon would certainly need a few.


	2. Head Over Heels

“Loras!” 

God, his family was always so happy to see him. Fine. Loras had come through of a bout of depression; it’s not like he was returning home from the front with his arm in a sling. Still, Margaery beamed and jogged the last few feet between them to embrace her brother. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Theon couldn’t help but admire the ease with which the Tyrells could stroll around and lounge together. They were fluent in a private language Theon had a rudimentary understanding of but could barely speak. 

Margaery’s sleepy eyes opened when she recovered from her happy grimace. She released Loras. “Theon’s here! That’s why you look so sunny.” She pinched Loras’ chin. “Come. Sit, eat, have a drink. Theon, you’re so thin.”

The pair linked arms. “You sound like Grandma.”

“Oh? Good for her,” Olenna called. 

Theon followed Margaery and Loras up a flower lined path to a plateau where an expansive limestone deck overlooked gently rolling hills. It was always cool on bare feet and soft like chalk. The pool made a neat turquoise mirror on the bright white landscape. Various shades of green climbed up the hillside from the lush valley below.

Margaery waved at Theon then made an open gesture toward the poolside pagoda. “I got this rum, I think it’s called El Dorado, for you. I heard it’s quite good. Try some and give me your opinion.”

Theon smiled and walked over with his hands in his pockets. “You’re too generous,” he said, somewhat uncomfortably.

“Eat something!” Olenna came gliding over from the shade of the porch. She kissed Loras’ cheek and touched Theon’s arm, giving it a warm squeeze. “You’re both too thin. One of you should get to feeding the other.”

“We aren’t...” Loras blushed a little and made some face at his grandmother which caused her to immediately feign interest in the cheese platter.

“Don’t you like gruyere, Theon? I simply can’t remember a thing. Make yourself a plate.”

“Sure.” He couldn’t remember either. 

Loras relaxed on a wicker couch after pouring himself and Margaery a glass of wine.

“You did so well with that drunken brat,” Olenna said happily. Seeing Theon was still leaning against the pagoda frame with his hands in his pockets, she decided to make a plate for him. “I can’t believe you made her change her mind.”

“I didn’t, really. We came up with a win/win solution.” Ramsay used that phrase a lot. It left a sour aftertaste in Theon’s mouth. 

“Sit. Sit down, please. Here, eat some food,” Olenna insisted again. 

“Let’s go swimming,” Loras said. He yawned comfortably and continued to watch Theon. 

“I didn’t bring anything to swim in.”

“So? Borrow something of mine.”

“You’re too fat,” Theon mumbled. “I don’t want to shock or entice the ladies if they slip off.”

Loras sprung forward. “WHAT?!”

Olenna laughed.

“Oh, it’s too cold for swimming,” Margaery said.

Loras leaned back and savored a piece of dried mango. “This is wonderful.”

“Isn’t it?” Olenna took in the view, seeming to search it.

Theon grinned. “Absolutely.”

 

After an hour or so, Margaery found Theon in the kitchen looking for the garbage can. She pulled the frame of a backlit stained glass rose and a garbage can came rolling out of hiding behind it.

“Huh, clever.” Theon tossed his plate in.

“Come talk with me on the porch.” She touched his arm, a smile brightening her deep blue bedroom eyes.

“Sure.” 

 

He opened the door for her. 

 

They both leaned on the smooth white railing and watched fireflies drip up from the lawn, blot out and reappear at some unpredictable time and distance from their last shining. 

Theon offered her his open pack, but she recoiled from the invitation, slinking away like a cat. She tilted her head and wrinkled her nose, silently laughing.  _ She’s trying to be charming.  _ She was pretty good at it.

“I always wanted to meet a Greyjoy.” Her words came out a little looser and more slowly than was usual. “Did I never-ever tell you that?”

“I think you did.” Theon grinned and lit his cigarette. He blew smoke over the last, pink remains of the sun’s rays. “Thanks for the rum, Maggy.” He held up his glass in salute and took another swig.

“Uhk. Only my brothers call me that. My friends call me Mae.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, like Mae West. Wait, see?” Margaery struck a sultry pinup pose and bobbed her shoulders suggestively. 

“That is amazing.”

“Are you laughing at me?” Margaery righted herself and whacked his arm. “Theonnnn, you  _ have _ to like me.”

“Of course, I do. Everyone does.” He took a long drag and waited for it.

“Do you really?”

“Really. Really,  _ really _ .”

She beamed at him. She made it look _so_ real, but; “Would you be able to talk to your brother for me?” 

_ Yep, there it is.  _ “Absolutely. What do you need?”

“Well, I have this all-natural line of cosmetics and things,” she said with a shrug. 

“Right. Um, don’t tell me…  _ Flourish _ , right?”

“Yes!” Margaery popped up happily then swayed back and gripped the railing with both hands. “How did- I guess part of your job is researching people. You may know its all grown here but manufactured in the north. Anyway, distribution is killing us.”

“You want to ship through the Iron Island ports? I’ll see what I can do.”

Margaery came closer, her fingertips sliding along the banister. “Theon, did you research me, like I was a client?”

If he had met her before Ramsay, Theon could have fallen in love; fallen for anything. “I’ll see what I can do,” he repeated. 

“Finish your drink. So, what is Loras doing? He seems to be hiding something.”

“Maybe. We give each other space, you know?” 

“Theon,” she grabbed his wrist. He nearly slapped her away, but stopped himself, trying to pass it off as a shiver. “The last time Loras hid something from me, he got himself in a lot of trouble. Can you keep an eye on him for me?  _ Please?” _

Theon looked around for some kind of ashtray then dropped his cigarette into his drink. “Better get a new one.” He grinned and followed the wraparound porch back to the pool deck.

 

_ “Are you ready to go?”  _

Loras glanced up and smiled patiently. “Theon, you haven’t met Willas.”

“Oh. No.” Theon turned and found a new Tyrell, beautiful as the rest of them. He was at least a decade older than Loras and had the same gentle but penetrative stare as their mother. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Willas stood with the use of a proud engraved cane to shake Theon’s hand.

“Did you want to go?” Loras asked, smiling to himself a little because he’d guessed the answer.

“No. Um, not yet.”

 

After a few more drinks and some good food, Theon relaxed a little. Margaery’s friends came over, some guy Loras liked stopped by, no one Theon really noticed. But Willas laughed so hard at some stupid joke Theon didn’t even think anyone heard, that he kept talking and started telling stories everyone hung on. He dusted off and slipped into his favorite role to play; this happy asshole who was in love with himself and expected everyone else to be. 

 

By the time they left, he wasn’t worried about how many more excuses he could come up with for always wearing long sleeves. Theon was actually thinking to himself, in his light drunken head, that he should call Margaery ‘Maggy’ after all. 

“You know he’s straight, right?”

“What?” Theon was quite comfortable leaning against the passenger side door. How could it be so soft?! But, hey, his body wasn’t complaining and he was nice and sleepy-

“Willas.”

“Your brother?”

“Uh, yeah. Well, he’s straight so...” Loras squeezed the wheel a little. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” A big slow smile crept upon Theon’s face. He hugged his ribs and peered at Loras with one half-closed eye. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“What’s funny?” Loras didn’t find it funny.

“Nothing. You’re cute, that’s all.”

The tension dissipated. It was so easy. Loras was so fucking  _ sane _ ! Theon swelled with contentment.

“I mean… you can do what you want, obviously.”

Theon sat up and swayed into Loras’ shoulder, catching his balance by grabbing Loras’ thigh. “Oh, yeah?” His numb hand found Loras’ fly before he’d even told it to. 

“Wait, hey-”

“Why not?” Theon’s mouth was on his neck. His fingers were working at the button. It just kind of happened.

“You’re drunk. Theon, you’re too drunk. Come on.”

“But!” Rejection welled up in Theon’s throat and stung his eyes. “I won’t puke on your dick!”

“Aww. That’s nice, honey. Lay down. Here, no, like- lay your head down. You want some greasy food, hun?”

“Yeah,” Theon pouted on Loras’ lap. He curled up some way and closed his eyes. Things were graying out and tilting. He welcomed sleep’s arrival. “Keep calling me honey and shit then.”

Loras laughed high above Theon’s dizzy head. The turn signal clicked, clicked, clicked. “I haven’t, uh… it still feels like cheating, honey.”

“What? On Renly?”

Loras was silent. The car rolled to a stop. Another turn signal clicked, clicked, clicked. He sniffed and sounded older. “Yeah. On Renly.”

“What was he like?”

Loras pet Theon’s head with light, hardly-there strokes through his hair. “Goofy. Smart. He had these eyes… no one could be any amount of evil with eyes like that…. And his stupid laugh. I just loved it. I could never be mad at him, you know? He was like… like a smart, courageous teddy bear. I’m just… I’m still so mad that he isn’t here. I don’t want to move on. I don’t. That’s it.”

Theon nodded. “That is pretty fucking romantic of you.”

“Oh yeah? You’re not going to tell me to get over it or I’m so young or something?”

“Me? I don’t know how to live life and shit. Fuck, hell no. You should tell me things. Fuck.”

 

“Hey. Theon? Theon? Wake up.”

Theon sat up. He rubbed his face with both hands and wiped his mouth. “Ohhhh man, I drooled on you.”

“It’s fine. Come on. We’re home.”


	3. So Very Entertaining

 

“Wake up.”

Satin pried one eye open.

“Hey.” Damon Dance-for-Me towered over the gurney his slender wrist was chained to.  “Shit, man. You got fucked up. PSIer makes some awesome as fuck painkillers.” Damon winked and gave him a thumbs up. “Ramsay will get you hooked up with that shit. The warden-”

 _“I know.”_ Satin pressed a delicate finger to his lips and winked with his unswollen eye.

“Right, right. Nurses and shit.” Damon looked around, nodding. “So, who was it?”

“The Faith Militant.”

Damon nodded again. “He wants a name.”

“Lancel.”

“Good.” Damon gave Satin’s leg a pat. “Rest up and take any meds they bring you cause, uh, you know.”

The paper until Satin crinkled as he sighed and turned away. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, man, don’t worry. No one will fuck with you again.”

“No one but Ramsay,” Satin muttered into his flat pillow.

“Well, yeah. But, listen, his parole is in four days. Then it’s just me.” Damon grinned so earnestly Satin wished he could smile back.

“I hope he gets out then.”

“Can I help you, inmate?” An annoyed doctor came out of her walk-in closet of an office. Though he was at least a foot taller and likely twice her weight, Damon always slunk away and fled as soon as she came in the room.

“I _actually_ got the meds I requested for once. How about something for the pain, Flowers?”

“Yes, thank you.” _Four more days_.

  
  


“Four more days.”

“Could you sit down?” Father Tarley looked up from his legal pad with a huge blushing grin.

“Do I have to?” Sometimes talking to Father Tarley made the lines between in and out of prison blur for Theon. His main office was a 45 minute drive, but Theon couldn’t stomach the idea of talking to anyone else.

“Please?” Tarley’s little dark eyebrows rose expectantly. He was always cheerfully ready for Theon to make the right decision.

Theon groaned and sat on the edge of a little white couch. “I think I should move- just go somewhere else.”

“Well, I think, if I was in your position, I may feel that urge myself. Let’s stop and assess things as they are, though. You’re already six hours south of Weeping Waters, living in a very secure home with someone you trust, working a job you’re quite good at. You still don’t have a car-”

“I don’t need one!”

“I’m not accusing or faulting you, Theon. You’re not under attack here. We’re just taking stock of what you have now. Let’s think about what options are open to you if you leave. Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. God, I don’t fucking know. Somewhere.”

“Theon?”

“I’ll find a sugar momma, or daddy. Got to do that shit while I’m still young and hot.”

“I appreciate that humor is a defense mechanism for you-”

“Aaaahhhhhrrrggghh,” Theon moaned over the too familiar correction. “Who says it’s a joke?”

“Theon.”

“WHAT?!” Theon laughed and threw his hands up.

“Have you…” Tarley’s round cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, “even... _had coffee_ with anyone?”

Theon pulled his sleeve and wrapped his arms around his chest. “Yeah.”

“Theon,” Father Tarley said gently. “Has anyone seen-”

“No.”

“May I see?”

Theon blanked out. Lazy, billowing clouds drifted by in the window behind him.  

“Theon? Are you with me?”

He nodded numbly and unzipped his jacket, wearing the same blind and absent expression. It collapsed on the couch behind him when he stood.

“Oh, Theon.”

“I made it into four pirate flags.” Theon felt like he should apologize. “I mean, it’s better than what he did to me. I’m not… I’m not _that_. I’m not even fucking racist. Look,” Theon smirked at his pink and white forearm, “that one is supposed to be Black Sam. Everyone liked him. BlackBeard, Calico Jack, Anne Bonny reminds me of my sister.”

Tarley still looked heartbroken.

“It's better than before! But, no, I still can’t fuck anyone. I can’t take my shirt off. See? You want to see it?” Theon grabbed the back of his shirt, pulled it over his head and turned around.

“I see.”

That wasn’t all Ramsay had engraved into his flesh but Theon wasn’t about to drop his pants and make a fucking spectacle of himself.

“What does it mean?”

Theon pulled his shirt back on and slipped into the safety of his hoodie. “Why does anyone mark something?”

“Oh.” Tarley’s wide rounded brow pinched over his shining eyes. “I’m sorry, Theon. You know, they aren’t that big…” Father Tarley stood with a bit of effort and opened the laptop on his corner desk. He typed bent over, clicked then the printed behind him started drumming a paper out. “There’s a woman right off of Kings Road, she does hair removal, cold laser something,”

“Uh huh.”

“... and tattoo removal -free- for former gang members on the last Sunday of every month. Here, here you go!” Tarley handed him the warm paper with her business information.

“Holy shit! Ho-ly fuck-ing shiiit! I never thought of that!” Theon burst. “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

Tarley clasped his hands behind his back and laughed sheepishly.

“That’s amazing! Yes! Fuck yes, I’ll do it!”

“Good. Now, let’s go back to-”

“Wait, I need you to do me one more favor.”

Tarley grabbed the back of his desk chair with one soft hand. “Favor?”

“I decided to take drugs. I mean, you know, happy drugs. So, just put me on whatever.”

“Oh.” Tarley seemed pleasantly surprised. “I think that could be very helpful, indeed.” He pulled out one drawer, then quickly went to another. “Here we go.”

He offered Theon a small white card, which Theon picked between two fingernails like it was a used tissue. “What the fuck is this supposed to be?”

“A psychiatrist.” Tarley cleared his throat and raised his little dark eyebrows like he was expecting another ‘thank you’ or some shit.

Theon dropped the card on the floor and wiped his hand on his thigh. “No, you really have helped me. Honestly. I was only five minutes late today; that’s barely ‘late’ at all.”

“I think you misunderstand-”

Theon grinned and started taking steps backward to the office door. “I’ll be early next time and I’ll bring you an iced coffee, ok? I have to leave a little early, but I’ll still pay you the full amount don’t worry.”

“Stop and listen, please. I can’t write you a prescription-”

“But you’re a doctor!”

“Not a _medical_ doctor.”

Theon was still grinning, trying to slip out the door. “I said I don’t care about the medicine! I’m doing very well - you just said so. Thanks again!”

“Please sit down. I feel it’s unproductive when you make an announcement and try to leave before I can respond.” Before the door closed, Father Tarley closed his eyes and said sadly but firmly, “If you leave now, don’t come back next week.”

Theon froze, made blank by that distant gaze again. His hand slowly drifted then slid off the doorknob.

“Please, come back and sit down. We can’t have a therapeutic relationship if you can’t communicate with me.”

Theon slid back in gazing, unfocused, at his feet.

They both stood silently for a moment.

With a sigh, Father Tarley regained his gentle smile. He let go of the chair and stood a little taller behind his desk. “Thank you. “I’m surprised by your reaction. I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. Could you try to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“I’m not going to another doctor,” Theon mumbled to the floor.

“A psychiatrist can assess things like vitamin deficiencies, glandular problems, possible drug interactions, family-”

Theon quickly strode over to Tarley’s desk and planted both hands on it. He leaned forward to stare Tarley directly in his star dotted midnight eyes. “Do you know who I am?” he asked quietly.

An uneasy half-smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared on Tarley’s pink face. “I know you, Theon.” Tarley pinched along the hem of his black wool cardigan with both hands. “Are you going to threaten me?”

Theon stood and stepped back. “ _You_ threatened _me_.”

“Ah, I see. Do you feel as though things are out of control right now? Can you try taking a deep breath and counting with me?”

_In 1-2-3-4-5. Hold 1-2-3. Out 1-2-3-4-5._

“Very good!”

“Really?”

Father Tarley walked around his desk and took a seat in his comfy chair. “I wasn’t trying to get rid of you. I would still be your counselor.”

Theon’s face grew hot. “Whatever. That’s no big deal. I don’t care.” He slumped into the couch.

“This is a very stressful time for you, understandably. You should be very happy with yourself. It takes discipline to de-escalate like that.”

Tarley’s pride in Theon lifted the shame from Theon on waves of swirling bubbles. “Loras suggested the meds.”

“He did?”

Theon confided, “I keep waking him up with nightmares. The other night he tried to wake me and I punched him in the face.”

Tarley started snorting and chuckling. “And he worried about _you_?”

Theon laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess that was pretty cool of him.”


	4. Better, Can't You See?

“Hey!” Theon hopped in and slammed the door.

Sargent Tarth glanced over briefly. “You don’t have to sit up front.”

“No, no! You’re not a cab driver! Come on. He said I’m doing really well.”

They both put on sunglasses.

“We don’t have to talk, Mr. Greyjoy. In fact, I prefer not to.”

“You aren’t **my** bodyguard-”

“Security detail.”

“Loras said we’re allowed to talk.”

 _That was funny of him._ Sgt. Tarth pressed her thin lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose. She pulled out of the quiet strip mall and away from Father Tarley’s practice. “Not when I’m working.”

Theon snapped his fingers as it clicked. “Right. Like a seeing eye dog.”

Sgt. Tarth snapped her head to look at him, but quickly went back to watching the road.

“Hey! Hey! Can you take me to this tattoo shop on the way back?”

Tarth sighed with exasperation.

“My doctor said to.”

“Your-” Tarth pressed the break without meaning to. A car beeped its horn behind them. “Your _doctor_ told you to get a _tattoo_?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He told me I need to fix the ones I already have. One I may have to remove, I think. But, I just realized, instead of waiting all month like a sucker, I can just-”

“Fine. Stop talking so I can concentrate.”

Theon shoved his tongue into his cheek and slowly nodded. He pulled his phone out of back pocket and unlocked it. “It’s on 68.”

“I know where it is.”

“Alright.” Theon leaned back, adjusted the passenger seat, and looked out the window.

There wasn’t too much to see, mostly green fields. There was a nice bit of road that ran under the shade of high sprawling trees for a minute, then it was back to flat fields. It was awful being this far north. Sometimes a sheep or two would be grazing in the still green sea. They look like dogs when they’re sheared, which Theon found extremely disconcerting.

Since Tarth had a real stick up her ass about the ‘dangers’ of secondhand smoke, Theon considerately pulled a stick of gum out of his jacket pocket. He tore off a piece, leaving the rest in the wrapper, and tossed it up and into his mouth. _“Yes._ Do you have a tattoo?”

“Ten minutes without talking. That was nearly a record, Greyjoy.”

Theon frowned. He pulled the lever by his hip and his seat fell. “Well, that wasn’t a ‘no’. What is it? I bet it's on your back, between your shoulder blades. Am I right?”

He tore another piece off but missed this time. It was harder laying down. “Is it something Viking?”

_“What?”_

“Your tattoo. You’re some kind of Viking, right?”

Sgt. Tarth turned to stare at Theon, not the faintest trace of a smile on her lips, then silently faced the windshield again.

“Well? What is it? Come on. You know right where the shop is, I know you have a tattoo. Lots of cops do, right?”

“I’m not a cop anymore.”

“Yeah, well, the whole reason for this little detour is the fact that tattoos don’t magically change when you do. You’re a security… person, what’s the big difference?”

“There’s quite a difference.”

“What, like, pay? Right? The pay is much better. Doing this, I mean. Right?”

“I was paid slightly less as a secret service agent to the best man I have ever known than I do to babysit you, yes.”

Theon’s expression soured. He stared at Tarth as he slowly leaned forward and pointedly turned up the radio.

That was fine by her.

 

A song had successfully finished before Theon sat up. “So what, exactly, would **I** have to do to be _the best man you have ever known_?”

Tarth pulled over abruptly onto the gravel shoulder.

 

Minutes later, she was smiling when she started the car.

Theon crossed his arms  and smoldered in the backseat.

 

 

Father Tarley was finishing his notes which, at the moment, meant watching a hedgehog float around happily in a sink. His phone rang. He quickly closed the YouTube tab on his screen. “Father Tarley, how can I help?”

“Do you have any free time today?”

“Oh, hello, Dr. Qyburn. Yes, I’m free from three until seven.”

“Excellent. An inmate has requested an evaluation in preparation for his parole hearing. I would do it myself but, in the interest of fairness, you know. We, of course, want to avoid possible conflict of interests.”

“Sure. I can be there in three hours; sooner if my next client cancels as she often does.”

“Thank you. I owe you for this.”

“Not at all!” Tarley smiled and hung up. “Oh…” _parole_ “... crap.”

 

 

 

“We’re here.” Tarth glanced around the parking lot. “Alright, go on.”

Theon hopped out and jogged into the tattoo parlor.

 

“Hi!”

“Hi!” A cute curvy girl with black hair and red lips replied. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d like to see about getting a cover up.”

“Are you **_certain_ ** about this? I have to warn you, cover ups are usually way difficult tattoos. They usually hurt more and may limit your choices.”

“I’ve wanted few things more in my life than this shit off of me right fucking now.”

The girl giggled. Theon fell just a little in love. “Alright, I got you. But don’t rush into this, though.”

“I’m not rushing. I’ve waited too long, believe me.”

“Ok.” She grabbed a sheet of translucent paper then came out from behind her desk; a row of glass cases with an assortment of rings for different sized holes in different body parts. “How big is the tattoo and where?”

“On my back. It’s three things like, only, this big.” He demonstrated how small with his fingers.

“Cool. Just let me sketch it and then I’ll have Jenna come take a look.”

Theon sucked at his front teeth. “Uh… they’re not something… I’m not proud-”

The girl waved away his concern. “No problem. Have a seat and Jenna will take you back in a minute.”

Theon grinned, already feeling so much lighter. “Thank you! Thanks, really- so much.”

“Here,” she leaned over to grab a clipboard and handed it to him. “Fill this out while you wait. We won’t need your license or a down payment unless you decide to make an appointment today, ok?”

“Ok. Great!”

The girl smiled back then hurried to answer the phone on her desk. “Siren’s Rock tattoo and piercing, this is Cassandra. Hey. No. Pretty slow right now. What are you doing?”

 

Theon took a deep breath and started scrawling on the form.

 

He looked up when Cassandra started talking to another gorgeous woman; a punk pin up redhead who was old enough to know exactly what she wanted and too old to give a shit about demanding it. He felt a little weak in the knees when she looked him up and down. “Come on back, sugar.”

 _Sugar._ Well, hell-fucking-yes he wanted to fuck her too! He wondered if anyone had ever _really_ tipped by eating her out. It might be rude to ask; he had made those kinds of mistakes before he knew any better. Still, if she seemed into him… he was _really_ good at it. “Hi!” He shook her hand.

“Hi, yourself, handsome. Follow me and we’ll take a look. So what are we going to try to fix, sug? Tribal tattoo? Barbed wire? _Only God Can Judge Me_ , but they spelled ‘Juge’ wrong?” She spun around wearing a feline grin and patted the seat of a short barstool.

He bit his lip not to guffaw like a fucking idiot.

“Cassy says it's on your back. Let’s take a look.”

Theon remained standing took his hoodie off but left it hanging on his left arm and pulled his shirt up.

The room froze. Theon felt it. He wondered how much time had passed in still silence and asked himself, yet again, if he was being paranoid or simply paying attention. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Jenna said quickly. She inched around him and flicked her long red hair over her olive toned shoulder.“Those are very well done. That actually makes it a little bit harder to cover up. We’ll need-”

Theon pulled his shirt back down and turned to face her.

“... a four-hour session. To be safe. Let’s go schedule it now.”

Theon smiled weakly. “I didn’t tell you what I wanted.”

“No, but, that’s - we’ll email each other and… let me get a second opinion actually. Stay right here, darling.”

“Cool.” Theon watched her leave, then slowly crept to the open door. Art hung all around him. It smelled like lavender and incense. He heard a high pitched buzzing down the hall but caught Jenna’s lovely low voice and the words ‘gang member’ and ‘last time’. A male voice rumbled something back, sounding skeptical.

“... dollar sign?” the male voice interrupted the woman to repeat in a louder, higher, more excited tone.

 _Fuck._ Theon hurried through the hall and back into the lobby.

“Did you want to schedule an appointment?” Cassandra asked, leaning on her glass desk and popping gum.

Theon didn’t answer. His heart was pounding in his ears and he was shaking not to run.

“Wait! Wait, wait wait! We can do it for you!”

A man was running after him so Theon ran and burst through the door.

 

He pulled at Tarth’s back door handle until it opened and slammed the door shut. “Go. Please. Go.”

Sgt. Tarth started the car and pulled out. A man with a buzzcut, white wife beater and laced up leather boots came stumbling out of the tattoo parlor. He waved his hands over his head.

“FUCK!” Daven sighed and hurried back inside. “Did you get his name?”

Cassandra looked from Daven to Jenna, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“He, uh, stole something,” Daven said, “worth a lot of money.”

“Really? Aww. He seemed so sweet. Well, he filled out this release form but, if he just wanted to steal something maybe it’s all bull-”

Daven snatched it from her hand, grinning.

“Everything’s alright?” Cassandra asked, not understanding Daven’s sudden excitement.

“Oh, yeah.”


	5. Wicked Wheels

“What happened?”

Theon didn’t answer. He stared miles away through the window.

“Mr. Greyjoy?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing happened. I pussed out.”

It was the kind of lie she herself would tell, forcing Tarth to wonder uncomfortably what else they could have in common. “You don’t look like yourself.”

“That’s a great idea,” Theon said, his voice lacking the enthusiasm his words hoped to convey. “Instead of a tattoo, I should change my hair.”

“I could take you to my hairdresser-”

“Dresser? No. Thank you, though. I need to drop a lot more than fifteen bucks for the kind of makeover therapy I need.”

Tarth ran a hand over her slick white-blonde hair. “Where did  _you_ want to go?”

“I know a guy who owes me a favor.” Theon slipped his phone out of his back pocket and scrolled through his contacts. “I’ll see if he can squeeze me in.”

“I’ll just…” Tarth lifted her hand and let it drop back onto the wheel, “...  _drive_ then… in this general direction.”

No retort came from the back seat. The rest of the ride was silent aside from Theon’s phone giving directions.

 

“Is this really it?” Brienne turned around after parking. “I think they’re selling sunglasses or vitamins, maybe.”

Theon looked up and remembered to grin. “Yep! That’s it. Thanks, so much. Really.” He jumped out but stopped before shutting the door and bent down, leaning back in. “There’s a cafe just down the block or… um, a park like two blocks north and then west on Sunset.”

“I’m fine.”

 

“Hello.” Father Tarley extended his hand.

Ramsay yanked him close and patted his back. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Ramsay pulled one chair from the circle to face another then sat and gestured for Tarley to do the same. “How is Alyn?”

“Oh, I couldn’t…” Tarley smiled uncomfortably and took the seat offered. “Confidentiality and all.”

“Sure. Not as a doctor or preacher, I just mean; as a human. How is Alyn doing?”

 _Priest._ “Mmm, better. I'd best leave it at that. Mr. Bolton, you have to understand I can  _not_ talk about other patients - inmates.”

Ramsay froze. His ears perked up slightly as his eyes smiled. “Well,” he said somewhat breathlessly, “let’s talk about me then. I'd like you to evaluate me in preparation for my parole hearing."

"I know. The warden told me to." Tarley glanced around the empty room. "There's still coffee-"

"Is that St. Francis of Assisi there?”

“Yes.” Father Tarley turned to look at the icon. “Good eye! I have several paintings of him.”

“One in every office?” Ramsay asked, so relaxed and friendly. “He’s my favorite saint as well.” Ramsay swallowed hard and smiled sadly. “I have such a soft spot for weak things. The new Pope has largely succeeded in honoring him, don’t you think?”

“Yes, well… I have three tests to give you. They won’t take very long.”

“Super. Oh, uh, would you help me if I do make parole? I may need some counseling, you know. I feel somewhat lost.

“I… yes. I will,” Father Tarley said slowly. “Certainly.”

“Well, then.” Ramsay leaned back in the cold folding chair with a charming smile. “I’m ready to begin.”

 

A full hour later, Brienne was half dozing when a clean cut man knocked on the passenger side window and waved. She sat up and stretched a bit as he climbed in the backseat.

“Wow.”

Theon clutched a little black bag to his stomach. “Wow -  _good_ , or wow -  _yikes_?”

She may have been looking at him through the rearview mirror, but he couldn’t tell with the reflective sunglasses she wore.

“Buckle up, Greyjoy.”

“... For all the pussy, or…?”

“Your- oh, for gods- your seatbelt. Your  **literal**  seatbelt.”

“Right.”

“So I don’t get a ticket.”

Theon hurried, fussing with the buckle. A shampoo bottle tumbled out of his bag and onto the floor. “Shit.” He leaned to grab it before it rolled under Tarth’s seat. The seat belt zipped back up and caught on his shoulder.

“What is happening?”

“Hey!” He popped up in between the front seats brandishing the lavender bottle. “This is great for hair like yours too. You should try it. Do you want me to get you one before we leave?”

“No, thank you.”

“Ok.” He sank away.

She started the car after hearing the click of his seat belt.

 

After a quiet deep breath, Tarth commented, “Your hair is very short and blond.”

“Thanks! I never had it this short before. It’s longer on top because Ambrose said it elongates my face.”

Brienne was fairly sure ‘Ambrose’ was a name the hairdresser had picked from a teen vampire novel. Maybe his real name was Tim.

Theon leaned forward, scooting to the edge of the backseat. “Do I look different?”

“Quite. I honestly didn’t recognize you until you started talking.”

He seemed happy with that and retreated to stare out his window again.

“What happened?”

“I bleached my hair. They used olaplex to pre-”

“I meant at the tattoo shop.”

“...”

“Greyjoy?”

“I showed the tattoos I have to hide to strangers. Strangers who  _know_ all about tattoos. They knew it was gang-related.”

“You shouldn’t have joined a gang.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have done so many things. I’m afraid to look over my shoulder sometimes. These mistakes - crimes, regrets keep building a mountain behind me. One day soon…” He could hear the crackling, the snaps, the thunderous cascade falling upon him.

 

_Four days._

 

Theon thanked Sgt. Tarth again in front of Loras’ brownstone. He offered a tip, which she quickly and firmly declined, as always. Why did he keep offering?

“Theon?”

He froze, pulling the door handle.

“Everyone has regrets. Not everyone tries to change.” She cleared her throat and put the car in drive. “Your hair looks nice.”

Streetlights popped on, one after another down the busy road.

Theon smiled brightly. “Thank you. Yours too.”

 

Satin woke up to the squealing wheel of the janitor’s cart. Ramsay stood over him, obscured by shadow. His man Skinner went about emptying trash cans around the nurse’s station.

_That’s how he gets in everywhere._

Ramsay ripped the scratchy sheet and thin blanket off of Satin, letting both drop at his feet.

“Please.”

Ramsay bit down on his bottom lip. “You never said ‘please’ before. You  _refused_ to.”

“I’ve done everything you wanted, with more skill than you could afford.”

“Is that so?” Ramsay’s dark profile scanned Satin’s battered body, uninterested in the noises it’s head was making. “Looks like you’re the only inmate who got to stay the night.”

“I played your games. I made you money.”

Ramsay ran an inspecting hand up Satin’s thigh. “What did they do here?”

Satin gagged when Ramsay grabbed his balls. He tried to curl away. _“Please.”_

“This will be the most fun we ever had.” He tore the gauze off, one pretty gift at a time. Two scabs on Satin’s cheek and one across his peck broke and bled slow, delicate, bright red streams.

 

Ramsay had never seen Satin cry before. His silky hair became a knotted mess in Ramsay’s fist. “Say it.”

“Fff-fuck y-y-"

He squeezed the soft warm purple bruise on Satin’s ribs and climaxed to the symphony of the boys guttural heaving, and violin whines.

 _“Say it.”_ He probed the black and purple rib cage until he found a spot that gave.

The air escaped Satin though he tried sucking it back in vain. That’s when he started crying.

_“Say it.”_

“I -I missed you, Master.”

“Good boy. Did you wait for me?”

“I d-did.”

“Are you thinking about me now?”

 

Satin vomited over the side of his bed as Ramsay slid back into his black Adidas flipflops. "Skinner, try to patch him up again."

It just wasn’t the same. That was the agonizing truth. The closer the simulation Ramsay constructed, the more empty he felt afterward.

He fixed his hair, checked his shitty orange clothes for blood, then left with his loyal but boring devotee beside him.

Ramsay put his arm around Skinner’s shoulder and took a room temperature half full Mountain Dew can from the squealing cart. “Do you have keys to all the offices?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. Then I have one more stop to make with you.”


	6. Just like Everybody Else Does

Hoat stopped in front of his open door and tapped his cork clipboard with a chewed up capless pen. “Bolton?”

“Yeeeah.” Every fucking day this asshole acts like he’s seeing Ramsay for the very first time. The entire world would be made more bearable with this sliver of hollow cheek blackened and charred, that piece of scalp pulled back, his eye sliced; bulging, staring at the tip of the blade as it pierced the iris, twitching, bleeding, unable to close…  
  
“Why are you always smiling?” Hoat snapped.  
  
“Just a happy guy, I guess.”

Ramsay turned his attention back to the sketch pad his Theon had gifted him. He hated to flip the page but got another sickening bittersweet rush from visiting its successor. Images he’d revisited so many times, like the clippings in his notebook. Both were familiar as home in this wretched, colorless shithole, yet never failed to offer up some new detail with new meaning or feeling to extract.  
  
“Visitor.”  
  
Ramsay raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I’ll take it.”  
  
“I didn’t even tell you-”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Hours are two to five today. I’ll have to shove my arm up your ass to make sure you’re keeping out of trouble. Hope you don’t fuck up your parole hearing, inmate.” Hoat went on but soon gave up, as Ramsay didn’t seem to notice he was still hanging around.  
  
  
  
  
Ramsay sat behind a small wobbly folding table in a crowded room of inmates and free people in their vastly differing outfits, willing the right face to appear. It felt like… if he could picture the slight frame, the sea green eyes, if he could only conjure a clear enough image and give it weight- but, no.  
  
“Hello, Father.”  
  
“Ramsay.” Roose sat, looking as comfortable or miserable here as anywhere else. He offered the same flat, ironic, closed-mouth smile, which Ramsay had inherited. A contemptuous thing at times, like their cold smirk and penetrating stare, the flat smile written onto some part or parts of their shared genetics nevertheless was something only _they_ really understood. Not Walda. Not Domeric. Just he and father.  
  
Ramsay liked that. “Well,” he said. “To what do I owe this once in a lifetime honor?”  
  
“The scourge of Nightshade is being eradicated in Westeros, thanks in part to you.”  
  
“Was he with them?”  
  
“Was who with whom, Ramsay?”  
  
“You know **who**. There was a huge bust on the Honeywine, right? At Locke Cailin? Was he with the Krakens or not?”  
  
“You’re over-excited. Sit up straight and control yourself better. You were always such a dramatic child.”  
  
“Father-”  
  
“Especially since your mother died. How long does that take to get over?”  
  
“It is not ‘dramatic’ to cry at your mother’s funeral. YOU were the one always telling me to stop ‘looking like an utter psychopath’. That’s what human beings do;” Ramsay stabbed the table with his thick index finger three times, _“Want. Other. Humans.”_  
  
Roose tilted his head a degree but Ramsay shook his back _._ “I am a human, like everyone else,” he sneered under his breath.  
  
Roose rolled his eyes. “Yes. A major base of operations was found and eliminated. Your little friend wasn't there. Sadly, his uncle had a boating accident off the coast of Colombia. Another good guess on your part.”  
  
Ramsay grinned and sat back. “Super.”  
  
“And you’ve started counseling?”  
  
“I go back next Saturday. My assessment went well-”  
  
“What made you think so?” Roose was laughing without twitching a muscle on his smooth face.  
  
Ramsay’s stomach flipped. He sat up and leaned closer. The shitty little table shifted weight onto its short leg by Roose, causing Ramsay to leer at an angle. “Of course, it did. He loved me.”  
  
Roose placed his intertwining milk white hands in his lap. A tiny pregnant woman stood and started yelling but Roose didn’t raise his low voice even as she was being escorted out. “I was told he made note of some reservations. I’ll hire a psychologist to meet with you.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“If Tarley gave the parole board a tarnished assessment then it’s his mind I have to change.”  
  
“Nonsense. Did you see his degree? ‘Biblical Counseling’ from a _seminary._  An actual psychologist with doctorates from the most exclusive universities in the world would easily dismiss his hurried assessment. What kind of professional works in a place like this anyhow? He likely has a record of his own.”  
  
“But he’s the person who has an established relationship with the parole board. They listen to him. I guarantee it. Shittalk his qualifications all you want, he has a face people trust,” Ramsay snapped his fingers, “... like that. I need Tarley. I can make him like me, I swear. And, hey,” Ramsay threw his hands up and grinned, “if I can make him think I’m normal, won’t you feel better about me …” Ramsay was momentarily drained of his bright fire.  
  
“Moving in? Working a real job for me?”  
  
Ramsay’s tongue circled a molar and flicked at a trapped bit of caramel. “Yes.”  
  
They both leaned back to consider things.  
  
  
  
“Go on and take the picture already,” said a girl in hot pink leggings and a white shirt spelling out in huge sparkly letters some characteristic about herself, which would have been self-apparent if true.  
  
“They wouldn’t let us bring a cell phone so we bought this disposable special,” a woman with thin limbs and a swollen abdomen added in a raspy but cheerful voice.  
  
“Your mother just wants a nice picture why couldn’t you cut your damn hair?” a heavy set man with a thin flannel shirt and big glasses demanded.  
  
“I know! Let’s all ‘dab’!” The woman giggled.  
  
“Oh my god, mom!”  
  
Their inmate slowly rose, swaying. “But, did you bring money though?”  
  
“Now he wants MONEY!” The flannel man exploded.  
  
“Darla, I saw it on my morning show! It will be fun!”  
  
Their inmate scratched his forearm. “Just make mom happy, guys.”  
  
  
  
Roose and Ramsay’s icy eyes slid from the noisy scene back to one another.  
  
“Fine. We’ll try it your way.” Roose stood and left.  
  
Ramsay waved goodbye to his father’s back with four jumping fingers.  
  
  
  
  
After another shitty, boring dinner, Ramsay stood staring through the small rectangle of glass and crossing wire into a hall he could never set foot in.

He couldn’t figure it out. Skinner didn’t have access; apparently, guards cleaned maximum security, but none that ever ventured into D Block. His breath fogged the window in two spreading blooms; obscuring things even further.  
  
“Ramsay?”  
  
He turned and looked Father Tarley over. “Yeah.”  
  
“Oh, I… I didn’t expect to, uh- what are you doing here?”  
  
“I didn’t know you’d be here either,” he lied. “Can we talk?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Of course.”  
  
_Fuck_. Father was right. Tarley was suddenly horrified to see him and glanced about looking for guards as he struggled to unlock his office door. He didn’t give Ramsay a perfect assessment. _Asshole._  
  
_It sticks. Fucking jiggle it_ , Ramsay thought impatiently. He rolled his eyes then put his hands in his pockets; just like a friendly person would. “Need help?”  
  
“No! No, no. I… it sticks sometimes. The whole building is falling apart, really. Honestly, you’d think…” but he stopped himself and cleared his tight throat. “Here we are!” he said too loudly.  
  
Ramsay took a deep breath through his nose and forced a smile.  
  
  
“How, uh...” Tarley fussed about his small office, dropping some papers, which Ramsay picked up and offered back. “Thanks.”  
  
Ramsay mumbled, “You said you could do counseling to me?” He bit his lip and looked away like he was embarrassed.  
  
“Yes. Yes, that’s a service we offer.”  
  
Alyn came here to humiliate himself for Ramsay. Theon… he closed his eyes and shook the thought away. “Theon won’t accept my calls.”  
  
“Oh, my.” Tarley inched behind his desk. “Theon?”  
  
“Yes. I need to apologize to him. Even if he doesn’t forgive me, I have to apologize. It’s very important to my recovery.” Ramsay slowly looked up from the worn stained carpet with big eyes- as tormented as he could make them look.  
  
“Well… that’s great but, I don’t- I just don’t see what I-”  
  
“You could call him.” Ramsay sat in the empty circle and awaited Tarley’s mercy.  
  
“My,” Tarley sighed.  
  
“Please. Three days and then I don’t know how long I’ll have. I’ll probably be transferred to Gen Pop and their counselor won’t know Theon or me and he’ll probably only be there one day a month for two hours. You know it. I’m begging you. Please. I need to close this chapter of my life and move on to something more positive.”  
  
Father Tarley’s head rolled, tormented, in indecision.  
  
“Do you think I’m a monster?”  
  
“What?”

That startled Tarley out of whatever argument he was forming.  
  
Ramsay made his chest slowly heave. He blinked his dry eyes and looked away, flaring his nostrils. “You think there’s no point in helping me,” he said quietly.  
  
“No! No, I didn’t say that.”  
  
“But you don’t believe me. I wasn’t asking for much…”  
  
“I’ll - just hold on.” Tarley sat and picked up his phone.  
  
Ramsay’s heart lept.  _I fucking knew it!_

He didn’t find Theon’s name on any papers. The prison’s Sys Admin username and password didn’t work for, what turned out to be, Tarley’s personal laptop. The prison was probably too cheap to pay for one. _Probably too cheap to properly secure their WiFi,_ Ramsay mused.

In any case, Ramsay should have given up, but he _knew_ Tarley had seen him. He could even swear he smelled Theon’s shampoo…  
  
“Theon, it’s, uh, this is Sam… Tarley. I… could you call me back?” He left his number and said thanks, looking relieved then hung up smiling. “Well, I’ll ask if he calls back and maybe we can try later. I can certainly pass your message on.”  
  
Ramsay jumped up, shoving aside a folding chair in his way. “He never answers on the first call.” _But you know that, don't you?_

Ramsay took the phone, yanking it toward him and hit redial. He handed Tarley the phone and repeated the number in his head as he stared at the small digital screen. Over and over. He made it a song.  
  
“Ramsay, please!” Tarley reprimanded.  
  
Ramsay hit the speaker button. “What?”  
  
“Don’t!” Tarley was flustered. He grabbed the phone and base, turning away from Ramsay to turn the speakerphone off. Ramsay stole a pen and wrote the number below his left elbow, then put the pen back before he was noticed.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
Ramsay gasped. Everything sharpened and contracted; frozen, agonizing and ecstatic.  
  
“Theon? Hold on.” Tarley must have hit the right button because the static and (was that a man or TV in the background?) other noise was cut off. “Hi, sorry. Listen, I spoke with, um, well… Ramsay and he- Theon? Hello?” Tarley’s shoulders sank.  
  
Ramsay bent and steadied himself on Tarley’s desk.  
  
He turned back around slowly and set the phone down. “Sorry. Maybe the call was lost. We can try later.”  
  
They both looked away from each other, at the filthy floor. “Yeah. Thanks, Sam."


	7. Why Do You Come Here

Theon was packing early the next afternoon when Loras knocked on his door. He quickly zipped up his backpack. “Yeah?”

Loras was wearing an indigo sharkskin suit, tailored in the neat trim British style. He leaned against the doorframe. “Where are you going?”

“To see my brother,” Theon said over his shoulder. He went through Loras’ guest closet and, finding his worn gray hoodie, yanked it out.

Uncle Rodrik had bought it for him before mom got sick, before Euron came around, before he moved in with his brothers and started pushing product. Theon’d had this damn hoodie through everything; every apartment, estate, motel, car, even in prison and now, in this pretty place, he still clutched it to his nervous stomach.

“Your brother? Like, ...the Iron Islands?”

“Yeah, Pike. Margaery was looking for a better way to manage distribution for her brand.”

Loras crossed his arms and took slow, meandering steps toward Theon. “Her all-natural, specially curated, non-GMO, ethically sourced… something or other.”

Theon smirked. “Beauty line. I said I’d talk to him about it.”

Loras strode past his walnut chest of drawers, looking down as though inspecting it, yet his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Theon sat himself on the edge of the fat cloud of a bed in the center of the room and watched.

“Don’t you notice anything?!”

Loras turned on his heel and squinted. “Yes. Your hair. It looks amazing!”

“Really?” Theon’s face lit up.

“I like your stubble too.”

“You do?! It’s so light, it kind of  matches the new hair, right?” Theon pulled his fingertips down his scratchy cheek. “I want to grow it into a nice beard, kind of square up my face.”

“That’s hot.”

Theon’s head snapped. He glanced over his shoulder toward the empty closet but aimed his ear at Loras, as if to make sure he heard correctly without giving his intentions away. “You think so?”

“You’ll look older but even more handsome.” Loras kept strolling around, hands in his pockets now. “Are you sure you want all that attention?”

“Wha-” Theon guffawed happily. “Fuck yes, I’ll deal with it.” He rubbed the back of his hot neck.

“So how did things go yesterday?”

“Great! I don’t think they fried my hair at all! It hurt like a bitch, honestly, but I got a phone number before I even left the salon, so…” He happily raised an open hand, signifying innumerable possibilities.

Theon did not mention how he tore the number apart after that fucking phone call because nothing felt safe after he’d hung up on Tarley.

“I meant- Brienne said she didn’t take you to a pharmacy.”

 _Why does_ **_he_ ** _get to call her Brienne?_ “No shit. Father Tarley is a priest, not a psychiatrist, dumbass. I have an appointment for Monday.” Theon bounced off the bed, deciding it was time to wrap things up.

“Monday? But, you’re still taking Secretary Targaryen to lunch, right? We really need all the help we can get pushing for-”

“Keeping ICE out of your farms and increasing corn subsidies; I remember.” _Thrilling. What I fucking pirate I’ve become._ After looking over a blue shirt with a delicate floral design with a bittersweet expression Theon put it back in the chestnut dresser and closed all the open drawers. “Well, I should go if I’m going to make the train.”

“I can drive you to the ferry.”

“No, you have a charity thing tonight at that gallery in South Side.”

Loras sighed his way into the wall. “I almost forgot.”

“You’ll be so busy this month.” Theon grinned. “That’s really good. You know? Good for you, man. I’m, uh… you know. You’ve been doing so good.”

They both looked away. Loras did _not_ talk about his well being. In his mind, problems were, without exception, merely external puzzles to be overcome through perseverance.

Theon slid into his backpack, still holding his hoodie and went to hug Loras who held up a golden hand. “Wait. Could I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything.” He stood straight and ready; eager to help.

Loras sucked in his juicy lip and rubbed his tongue across it. His deep blue eyes wandered around the room. “I need…” He stood tall as well then and smoothed his suit jacket. “I need… someone. Someone who can… take care of… _someone_.”

Theon’s backpack dropped behind him. His free hand flitted to his heart, hardly landing there before changing direction and casually combing through his hair instead. “Yes.”

Loras’ jaw dipped. “Yes?”

“I will. I can- I’ll do it. We just have to-”

“What? No, _you_ can’t do it!” Loras face twisted and reddened. “I don’t want you to go back to prison! You said ‘no more crime, not even a parking ticket’!”

Theon shook his head and nearly stumbled over his backpack when he unconsciously took a step back. “What? I don’t understand. Why would I go to prison?”

Loras’ pink face went pale. “For…”

“Murder?” Theon snapped, whispering. _“Stannis?!”_

“While you’re seeing your brother-”

Theon gathered his things and shoved past Loras before he could finish.

“Theon! You said _anything_!” Loras chased him down the steep staircase, through the living room, and onto the stoop. “STOP!”

The doorman grabbed Theon’s bicep and yanked him back, turning him a bit. “Did he steal-” as the man was looking back to ask Loras about Theon’s crimes, his filthy, lying, stealing, murdering fucking Kraken fist came slamming across the man’s jaw, knuckles digging into the soft skin, crashing with the bone. It happened in slow motion and yet was over before Theon had even thought about it.

Theon watched himself punch and kick the man without feeling a thing. He could have sworn he watched Brienne come up behind him. He saw her before she touched him and then he was in the air spinning and shouting hoarsely. “You call the cops- you rat me out- your DEAD! Your family is DEAD! FUCK YOU, Tyrrell!”

“Stop it!” Brienne growled in his ear. In retrospect, he would feel a little embarrassed at how easily she carried him down the sidewalk as he kicked out and twisted. At the time, he didn’t notice that or anything else. He didn’t even know what he was saying.

Then a tree hit Theon’s shoulders and the back of his head.

He pressed his thumbs to his temples while the world throbbed and Tarth said a few solid words he couldn’t make out.

He sank against the tree, letting the bark scratch his thin cotton shirt and sweaty back and sat in its shade until the angry voices fled.

Then, like a coward, he crept back to steal his hoodie off Loras’ stoop. Theon froze before turning to run and choked up catching the coppery smell and black stain of blood on the warm gray blue landing where he spent many pleasant evenings smoking little cigars and listening to guitarists down the block, playing in front of the train station, their coin-speckled cases open in front of them.

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

He snatched his hoodie and shouted, “FUCK!” When his torn knuckles sang with sharp and pulsing pain.

As he ran down the block, the pain grew worse yet mattered less.

  


With a snort and cough, Theon woke up late that summer evening on the humid but breezy ferry to Pike. He rubbed his face with his good hand and zipped up his hoodie. His phone was vibrating his sore ass. It sounded like a bullfrog dying from congestive heart failure against the thick metal bench he woke up on. The sun was melting hues of pink all down the wide, reflected sky.

Theon scratched his mess of hair and pulled it out to see, who he felt was the root of his ruin calling. _“You fucking prick,”_ he whispered to himself through gritted teeth.

Tarley didn’t say anything but breathed into Theon’s voicemail, unable to think of the right apology or the next manipulative lie he could sell Theon, for whatever fucking reason.

NOW Theon was awake, in pain, full of frustration, hurt and despair with nowhere to put it. His world had ended for about the twelfth time, probably, and this fucker is calling Theon like _he’s_ owed something? Fuck that!

 

Theon called Tarley back.

“Hello?”

“Hey- hello- do not ever call me again. Do you have any idea how much you fucking FUCKED me?! Fuck you. Fuck your fucking face, you fucking traitor. Because of you, I’m fucking homeless. So thank you. Thanks a-fucking-lot. All that shit you said was good for me; the job, the place to crash, Loras - it all blew the fuck up when you pulled that fucking shit on me yesterday. Wha-” Theon stopped cold when a unhinged, high pitched giggle ran its well-worn course up his spine.

He quickly hung up and turned his phone off. _Two more days._

After leaning back, he nearly threw the phone as far as he could into Kraken Bay. But how could he? It was all he had left beside the money in his pocket and the worn gray hoodie on his back.

So Theon stood holding the cold railing with his swollen hands instead, until he reached the shore.


	8. Recognize Me

There had been summers here when Theon’s loud cousins and uncles would laugh, drink, shout and fight; around the docks in the morning, in bars and backyards during the day, and around campfires at night. Inevitably, a glass would break, all the shouting and laughter would go silent, then the grunting, groaning scuffle would start somewhere outside Theon’s window. Often, before everyone passed out or went home, some woman would cry terribly while other hushed female voices mumbled soothingly around her. 

More than one gray howling winter night Theon had been sent to the closest tavern to bring his father or brothers home. The door was heavy and had to be pulled open over the white fanning arc it had scraped into the rock and clay. Men would turn to hiss and growl at the intruding sunlight, shout at him to shut the fucking door. 

Still, Theon felt some ease here. It was his. The hard, unyielding land was trampled by his family; every inch of it. Even if it was empty, dark, and bitter, he had belonged here to his own people once. No one ever spits the word  _ Kraken  _ on these islands and  _ Greyjoy _ was said proudly by his family and with a timid admiration by everyone else.

His body walked Theon home as though he’d only been gone for a weekend but he was nauseously aware of how much time had passed. 

Everything was smaller and more ordinary than he would have thought possible. The dockside fences were just planks of weathered wood and dry, prickly rope after all. The guitarist playing on the boardwalk was just like the one who played in front of the subway, only songs here were full of sorrow and curses. People sang along with their fists in the air, laughing or crying at the end- depending on the tempo and time of night.

 

He came to the crest of a steep hill where the island began to plateau for awhile and could see the house he once lived in when everyone he knew was alive and together. Theon filled his lungs with the whipping, damp, salty air. His thumb ran across the phone in his pocket, over the bump of the power button. 

Then he headed back to his family’s house, half expecting his furious father to be stomping around breaking everything inside, half expecting it to be completely empty.

  
  
  
  


“So...” Sam repeated, smiling uncomfortably. “You feel that counseling would be, uh…”

“It’s vital to my recovery,” Bolton said. His round eyes glistened with vulnerable hope. 

Sam distinctly recalled Bolton having narrow eyes, which constantly scanned his surroundings then bored deep into targets. Now the same pale eyes were utterly possessed by a heartbroken, misunderstood, boy on the very precipice of turning things around or else collapsing on the spot. 

Sam  _ wanted _ to believe it. He admitted as much to himself. Yet, a larger part of him could not believe that any of this new Ramsay was true, especially after his careless impulsivity just  _ happened _ to get Ramsay exactly what he wanted. 

“Right.” Sam looked around his desk and pulled out a drawer or two. “I’m sorry, I don’t have your file handy, but I don’t recall that you had an addiction you were recovering from? I know the battery of tests we ran through didn’t indicate-”

“It’s not a drug.” Bolton was leaning closer. His expression was so painfully open. “I just got stuck.”

“On… on someone, you mean?”

Ramsay nodded. “You have remarkable intuition.”

“Oh, heh…” Sam’s cheeks grew uncomfortably warm. 

“You know what I want already.”

“I don’t.” Sam gave a short, hollow laugh. “ I really don’t know what you want with Theon.”

“I want to apologize. We’re both troubled people. I want us to be good for each other.

“For… for each other?”

“I was hoping you could counsel both of us. Separately and-”

“It’s very late.”

“Yes. I can see you tomorrow. I’ve asked my father to hire you. He can pay three times what the warden does. He’s going to call you tomorrow morning. Probably at some gods forsaken hour. I told him that I only want  _ you _ . You have the emotional intelligence, the general intelligence that someone of my  _ complexity _ needs.”

“Ramsay, I need you to respect my boundaries. I’ll take-”

“I wouldn’t upset him,” Ramsay said sadly, looking away a moment. 

“Your father?”

“He hates to be disappointed.” Ramsay smiled bitterly. “Well,” he stood suddenly and grabbed Sam’s hand, giving it a firm shake, “I can’t afford any fuck ups, so I’d better get back before lights out. Sam,” he yanked Sam’s arm pulling him close enough to breathe in Ramsay’s seductive cologne.  _ “Thank you.”  _ Ramsay smiled then quickly saw himself out. 

 

Sam sat back down in his chair as soon as his office door closed. “Oh, my…”

  
  
  


At last, Theon stood looking up at his father’s stone mansion. Black and green hues of gray climbed one over another up to the soupy sky where the last embers of the day were drowning. 

There were voices inside, so it wasn’t empty anyway. He rang the doorbell twice, then three times. 

A tall drunk man who stank of rum answered through a crack. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘ _ What’ _ ? I’m here to see the fucking Greyjoys.”

“She’s busy.”

“Asha?” Theon shoved past and slid inside. 

“Hey! You can’t just- fuck you!”

“FUCK YOU!” Theon shouted back, over his shoulder. He made his way through more drunk morons who all stood when he reached the wide open trashed kitchen. 

“Who is this?” A pretty, soft faced boy whispered to Theon’s sister. 

“Who the fuck are YOU?”

Asha was leaning back in the wooden chair where she used to eat cheerios. 

 

They used to play ‘restaurant’ with each other in this kitchen when mom was tired or at her sisters, and dad was off doing whatever blessed thing kept him away for so long. Theon would take an order and come back with whatever he could make from the empty pantry; dotted with condiments, Alka Seltzer, Pepto Bismol, bottles of liquor, fizzy water, Tylenol, and always saltine crackers. So it was usually cut up hot dogs, butter and cracker sandwiches, or dry cereal. Asha would either say it was good and she was really the mayor in disguise, who had just decided to give him the best restaurant on all the islands or she would concoct different ways to get out of paying the bill. Theon would either be a dignified waiter with his nose in the air or a rude waiter about to quit forever and so was the chef, by the way. Look what he put in your filet mignon!

Now Asha was stretched out, filled out, strong and distant even though she had so much of the face he remembered. 

He suddenly saw and felt her, again, grabbing him, red faced, silent tears collecting on her ninja turtle pajama top.  _ They’re here!  _

 

Theon shook his head. The kitchen table was covered with rolling cans and empty bottles. 

“Eh?” Asha said loudly. She dropped both her boots on the kitchen table and leaned back some more. “Who in the living fuck are you?”

Theon glanced around before realizing. “Me?”

“Yeah. You. Look, kid, if I fucked you-” The pretty boy snapped his head toward her but she held up her hand and yawned. “... I’m sure it was very, very, long ago and I doubt you’re carrying my baby or fucked enough of anything to give me the clap or some shit, so go on and fuck off.” She waved Theon away while her friends laughed. The majority of them looked like they could be in prison, or just got out.

_ “Asha!” _

“Aw, don’t look so offended. Don’t you like girls? How was I to know?” Asha grabbed a shot glass from the table and brought it to her lips. “By your skinny jeans and frosted tips?” she said into the glass then took a shot as the room erupted in approving laughter again.

“It’s me, you fucking asshole.”

_ “Me? _ Who? Come closer, I almost see two of you.”

“You sound like Uncle Aeron before he found The Drowned God.”

Asha squinted at him then seemed to both crash and stand at once. “Theon?”

He swallowed and forced a smile.

“It’s you! What the fuck are you doing? Why would you come here?”

“Wha- why not?”

“Why not?!” Her face hardened and paled. “You shouldn’t BE here!”

Theon gave a single, silent nod and turned away from his sister and home. He left as she was telling her friends to stay.

  
  


Walking down a steep hill feels like stumbling. Theon could feel himself tumbling, banging against the rocks, plummeting to the freezing torrid sea. Tyrell waters were a clear, placid, turquoise. But this, here, was his woeful inheritance; crashing, roaring, black waves breaking against the rocks.

“Theon! Stop!”

He found he was, in reality, strolling along quite calmly with a hand in his hoodie pocket. One thumb on his phone’s power button, the other thumb tucked between his chest and a backpack strap. It made him feel better to glance back at his sister looking and feeling so apathetic. 

Asha jogged down to catch up with him. “Where are you staying?”

He shrugged.

“Shit.” She sighed and put her hands on the narrow hips, which topped her powerful legs. “So, what  _ did _ you come here for?”

“I got out of prison. I wanted to help a friend who helped me.” He waved the rest away with a swat of his hand.

“You’re fighting already from the look of those knuckles.” They both grinned ironically. “Let me buy you a drink or two. The ferry won’t run again until the morning. I can put you up with my friend.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on.”

“Why can’t I come home?”

Asha shook her head, pitying and expecting more from him. “I’ll tell you over a nice stout.”

“Sure. Ok.”


	9. Sunday Morning, Coming Down

Ramsay stabbed the crackers on his salmon colored plastic tray, breaking them into flying crumbs.

Damon’s tray was clean already. He sat frowning and rested his dimpled chin on a meaty fist. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No one asked you to grunt out your caveman fucking opinion.”

So, Ramsay was in a great mood. “Why chance fucking up your parole?”

“Because I _want_ to do it.”

“Someone who doesn’t matter can do it.”

Ramsay glanced up with a cold stare that closed Damon’s mouth.

“Ramsay,” Skinner huffed. He knocked into his beloved leader when he tried to slide onto his seat and slid halfway off instead.

“NO RUNNING, INMATE!”

Skinner raised his hand apologetically wearing his usually stoney, focused face. “I have something for you. You’ll want to throw it out with your-”

Ramsay snatched the thin paper Skinner held under the table and unfurled it. Tarley wasn’t in his office this morning. Disappointment gives Ramsay a kind of _stabbing_ headache. He was ready for more bad news, but he was surprised. “What is this?”

“I thought he might try to get a cover up,” Skinner whispered, “so I told my shop and had them spread the word to other shops. I said that he’s very dangerous. This guy though,” Skinner smiled, “ _he’s_ one of us.”

The paper crinkled in Ramsay’s fist. “Is that our friend’s Bitcoin account at the bottom?”

Skinner nodded.

“Make sure he knows that I will double the amount I pay for this information for anyone who can _hold_ him.”

“Right.” Skinner began to stand but Ramsay grabbed his wrist. “Eat lunch first. _Hold_ him. Do you understand? I don’t want anyone to touch him; just _keep_ him for me.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Make sure **they** do.” None of the dumbshits at the Aryan table seemed to hear their low voices, which was exactly how Ramsay liked it. He gave Skinner his tray. “Eat. I have plans for you.”

“For me?”

“I want you to run things here when I get out.”

“But,” Skinner looked from him to Damon and back.

“Don’t question me.”

“No. I wouldn’t. Thank you. You won’t regret it. I swear!”

“I never do.”

Skinner still looked to Damon, who winked and grinned.

“Now, we need to take care of two things. One; Lancel Lannister.”

“Lance? But… he’s an Aryan. I don’t-”

“He fucked my whore without paying and...” Ramsay thought quickly, “he’s talking all our Aryan brothers into celibacy. We’re _already_ a minority.”

Skinner’s paranoia filled in any blanks without Ramsay’s assistance. “Right. I will be happy to.”

“Good. But not you. Your loyalty is beyond question. Joffrey, on the other hand, still needs to prove himself.  Lancel has exactly _one_ job his fanatic ass does every Sunday. Even _Joffrey_ should be able to handle that shit.”

Skinner leaned in. _“His own kin?”_

“Skinner, who is his family now? And yours?”

Skinner’s eyes narrowed in steely determination. “I’ll make sure it’s done.”

“My second mission for you; find everyone in Westeros with this name.” Ramsay used his straw make five letters in the powdered mashed potatoes he had just encouraged Skinner to eat.

Skinner looked and cocked his head. “I tried to recruit him.” He pointed to the name. “The rich boxer Theon used to follow around?”

Ramsay’s eyes bulged. He rolled his lips together and composed himself. “That’s right.”

“I will get you everything from his address to his favorite gods damned ice cream flavor.”

“I know you will. You’re my good soldier aren’t you?”

Skinner broke open. He had to lower his gaze to bear the exposure.

Ramsay loved running his hands through people’s soft insides; his fingers gliding over Skinner’s beating heart, taking hold… He grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.“Fantastic. Come see me when it’s done. Talk to the men about making the Sunspear table pay the fuck up before the week is over.”

Ramsay stood and jerked his head. Damon followed.

He bent as they were walking. “I’m glad you listened to me for once.”

Ramsay stared ahead through unfolding possibilities. “I always do in the end. Now, why don’t you shakedown some dumb cunt and get me a fucking phone?”

“Sure, bitch tits. Good luck tomorrow.”

Ramsay grinned. “Don’t need it.”

 

Theon woke up in a strange place for the first time in quite awhile. His dick throbbed painfully as his bladder cramped so he kicked away the tangled sheets and jumped out of a rather small bed.

His shirt was on.

Thank the Drowned God, or what the fuck ever.

 

Theon looked for soap in the bathroom, which was uncluttered but dirty.  He opened the medicine cabinet and found condoms, a toothpaste but no toothbrush, an empty bottle of pills he couldn’t identify, and a beige thermometer. No soap. Lots of mouthwash.

 

He peered out of the bathroom, looking for his pants. The apartment was quiet except for bass-heavy dance music coming down the hall. “Hello?”

The pretty boy Theon knew… somehow, came around a corner, also in his boxers. His brown arms were wrapped tightly in front of his lean chest. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah. Fuck, I guess so.”

“Obviously.” The boy pouted. “You and your sister are _disgusting_.”

“What, uh-”

“Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Right. Should I ask what happened?”

“You don’t remember?!”

Theon took a careful step out into the hall. “I do. A little. Do you?”

The boy reddened. “Just go home.”

 _I tried to._ “Wait, wait, where is Asha?”

The pretty boy looked out his window at another gray day. “Probably eating on the Pier. Maybe if you catch her in time she’ll give you her leftovers again.” He went back around his corner. Theon ducked back into the bathroom and puked into the poor kid’s filthy sink.

 

What did he remember? Theon pulled his clothes on while he tried to think. He was supposed to remember two things. They were sitting at a bar. He remembered the smoke hanging around the low lights, and the smell of damp, beer-soaked wood. They laughed and she told him… Rodrik! Rodrik is back in prison.

 

_‘So are you happy?’ Asha had laughed in his face holding up a pint to salute him and slapping the bar._

_‘About what?’_

_‘Your sacrifice! The sentence you took for him! Was it worth it? His whole fucked operation from Kraken Bay up the Honeywine is busted. Cailin is gone, spreading open for everyone now. He’s never getting out, you know. All that time you served was for nothing,  you god damned moron!’_

_‘Why the fuck do you care?’ he’d shouted back over the music and booming voices._

_‘Who said I give a shit? You’re just a moron. It’s funny!’_

_Theon frowned and took another shot._

 

That wasn’t one of the two things.

He told her about getting out, about a gang, but muddied a lot of details. He told her about working for the Tyrells- “LORAS!” He froze, zipping his hoodie. That’s it! Theon grinned. It all came back.

 

_‘I can work something out. Give me this bitch’s number.’_

**_‘Margaery_.** _She’s very nice.’_

_‘Yeah, sure. Nice, like Rodrik. If I do this for you, Theon, don’t ever come back. I’ll come see you on the mainland, but you can’t ever come back here.’_

_He fell, grimacing and rose, soaring at the same time. Maybe he went blond for a reason; in spite of the pain, to feel like he belonged to another family. ‘Ok. Deal.’_

 

He checked his phone. Asha’s number was in there. “Yes!”

He texted her to say thanks and he was leaving. He didn’t know what to tell Margaery just yet but knew she would fix things with Loras.

Theon picked up his backpack and went out looking for food before the trip back to the mainland, where he had really always belonged anyhow.

 

That evening, Lancel climbed twanging metal stairs without thinking. He always came, at the end of seven days, to ring the chapel bell seven times. He didn’t look up until Joffrey giggled. His small face was rabid with glee. He rushed forward and shoved Lancel, right under the neglected camera’s staticy watch.

Lance hit the stairs a total of fifteen times before his broken  corpse stopped, caught at a twisted angle. Still, Joffrey would giggle and tell anyone he could get to listen that Lance bounced exactly seven times because it made a good punchline.

 

Theon jumped into a plush hotel bed. The room was, for the night, his alone. He had called Secretary Targaryen’s aid from the balcony and trying reschedule their lunch, due to a ‘family emergency’. He had filled his stomach, and took a nice long bath and texted Margaery.

He was clicking through the few channels on his little television when he phone buzzed.

 

 **UNKNOWN:** Theon, I need a favor.

 

 **THEON:** Who is this?

  
**UNKNOWN:** I need you to speak on my behalf at my hearing tomorrow.


	10. Saints & Witches

 

Theon dropped his phone. It landed quietly on the white comforter and buzzed again.

 

 **UNKNOWN:** I heard you want a new tattoo.

 

“Damn it.” Theon crawled back and sat up, pressing his back into the pillows.

 

 **UNKNOWN:** I can help you with that.

 

“What?”

 

 **UNKNOWN:** Come speak on my behalf tomorrow. Let me apologize.

 **UNKNOWN:** I can’t move forward with my recovery if you don’t give me this chance.

 **UNKNOWN:** Are you ignoring me? ;-D

 **UNKNOWN:** How do you like your room? Is it lonely, like mine?

“Shit!” Theon jumped up and flew to his door. He peered through the peephole. A man in a shabby suit was talking a cell phone down the hall. He didn’t have any luggage. Theon’s heart pounded against his tightening chest. He walked back to the bed and sat down, trying to think and breathe.

 

 **THEON:** How did you find me?

 

No, he erased that. He tapped his finger against the case and took a deep breath.

 

 **THEON:** If I come, you’ll leave me alone?

 

Miles away, behind walls, upon walls, upon walls, Ramsay clutched a shitty flip phone to his chest and exhaled at last.

 

 **UNKNOWN:** Yes. I won’t need you for anything else. Do you need me?

 **UNKNOWN:** I’d like to help you if I can.

 

“What the fuck?” Theon shook his head. What in the shit was he supposed to say to that?!

 

 **THEON:** I’m fine. Thanks.

 **UNKNOWN:** Alyn’s in max for life. He killed that fucker, Trant. :(

 **THEON:** Shit. Sorry.

 **THEON** : Because of me?

 **UNKNOWN:** No.

 **UNKNOWN:** Because of me, actually.

 **UNKNOWN:** I feel bad. I want it to stop.

 **THEON:** You feel guilty???

 **UNKNOWN:** I don’t know.

 **UNKNOWN:** I don’t like prison anyway. I saw Tarley and shit. Trying to make amends and work for my fucking father.

 **THEON:** Doing what?

 **UNKNOWN:** Gods, I don’t fucking know. Something terrible and boring. What are you doing?

 **THEON:** Bullshitting people into doing what my client wants.

 **THEON:** You’d be good at it.

 

Ramsay grinned and rolled over, hiding the precious connection from the barred cell entrance, though no one was likely to pass by for another hour.

 

 **THEON:** Do you have people following me?

 **UNKNOWN:** No.

 **THEON:** How did you know I was in a hotel not too far from Newt Firell?

 

Ramsay didn’t, until now. He only knew Theon said he lost his ‘place to crash’.

 

 **UNKNOWN:** No one _following_ you. ;p

 

“That’s not fucking funny, you psychopath! That doesn’t merit a fucking winky tongue-sticking-out face!” Theon looked away from the screen. His eyes fell on the minibar. Fuck it. _I still have plenty of money._

 

 **UNKNOWN:** Listen, I’m transferring all this gang shit to Skinner when I get out. I was just getting high and having fun. I didn’t realize what I was really doing until I got sober.

 **UNKNOWN:** In the meantime, I just wanted you to be safe.

 **UNKNOWN:** No _accidents._ :)

 **THEON:** Stop using emoticons.

 **THEON:** It’s not appropriate.

 **UNKNOWN:** No?

 **THEON:** NO. This is not emoticon shit we’re talking.

 **UNKNOWN:** Oh.

 **UNKNOWN:** I just have this shitty flip phone. It doesn’t have the animated thingys.

 **THEON:** That’s not what I meant.

 **UNKNOWN:** It’s a really old phone. It’s hot now actually. Like _brain tumor_ hot.

 **UNKNOWN:** Good thing it’s in my hand.

 

Ramsay frowned. A hollow aching pulled and tore at him inside like a vacuum.

 

 **UNKNOWN:** I think every text is costing someone .50

 **THEON:** Ramsay!

 

Theon grinned and opened another airplane-size bottle.

 

 **UNKNOWN:** What?

 **THEON:** You’re stealing and hiding contraband? What part of your “recovery” is that?

 **UNKNOWN:** Step 3.

 

Theon laughed and collapsed on the comfortable but cold bed. He opened the third bottle and downed it like a shot.

 

 **THEON:** Uh huh.

 **THEON:** You were high?

 **UNKNOWN:** No shit.

 **UNKNOWN:** You saw me do drugs, right?

 **THEON:** Yeah.

 **THEON:** But…

 **UNKNOWN:**???

 **THEON:** I don’t know.

 **THEON:** You do sound different, I guess.

 

Theon’s stomach dropped without warning.

 

The last time Ramsay sounded different was the worst night of Theon’s life. He didn’t quietly follow Theon everywhere with his arms crossed, blurting out awkward questions and demands. That night, he was suddenly bursting with excitement, happily orchestrating the horrible thing he had been working toward while Theon ignored him. He wasn’t lost or socially inept; Ramsay had always been fanatically focused, searing with impatience.

Theon could see the guards in his cell, peering around Clegane to look up at him. He grabbed the comforter with both fists. He could feel the shoves, to the floor, to bed. There was someone outside the door. _He knew it._

He quickly tried to text with a shaky hand.

 

 **THEON:** I have to go.

Theon jumped up and checked the locks again. No one was in the hallway, that he could see, but he could hear muffled voices. He slid the closet door open and stepped back into it, scanning the room and trying to think.

The phone started buzzing.

 

“No. No fucking way.” Theon sank then sat a moment to catch his breath. He felt better after some time had passed in a tight, quiet, safe place.

 

No one came to the door, but the phone started ringing. It occurred to Theon that he was sitting in the closet of a room he paid $200 for. He wasn’t crazy. He just needed another drink, so he got up and went back to the mini bar.

The phone chimed three times to let him know he has a new voicemail.

 

“Are you ok?” Ramsay’s gentle concern was strained. “That was _sudden_. Let me know you’re alright. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just call your friend Loras… check up on you…” Ramsay mumbled and hung up.

 

“Fuck!” Theon unscrewed another bottle and texted between downing shots.

 

 **THEON:** Don’t call Loars

 **THEON:** Loras

 **UNKNOWN:** Hey, buttercup. Where’d you go?

 **UNKNOWN:** >:(

 **THEON:** STOP!

 **UNKNOWN:** What?

 **THEON:** Using those!!!

 **THEON:** Making the faces like things are just nothinf!!!!!

 **UNKNOWN:** That’s a lot of !

 

Theon stabbed Ramsay’s name with his finger then hit CALL.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Stop! Don’t make me laugh or act like we’re friends or that you… what, what do you want?”

“I want you to speak on my behalf tomorrow.”

“Well, who the hell am I? A fucking Greyjoy, dried out-up, junkie? It doesn’t even… like, what?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Are _you_?”

“You were a Kraken druggie when I met you. Now you’re not. Just come and say that. Let me see you and say I’m sorry.”

“You said that-it. You told me already.”

“Come and speak for me, then I can move on. I already know where you are, Theon. What do you have to lose?”

Theon fell back onto the hotel bed and groaned.

“If I was planning something, why would I call you and talk it over? What are you afraid of?”

“Please…” Theon muttered half into a pillow.

“You don’t think people make mistakes?”

“ _Mistakes_?!”

“Didn’t you?”

Theon swallowed hard. “Yeah, but…. I did. I know. I know that I made mistakes. But it wasn’t an _accident_ , what you did.”

“Was your mistake an accident?” 

Theon rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

“Were you sent to prison for an accident? Or was it years of mistakes that killed your friend?” 

“But…”

“What?”

_I loved Robb._

“So what happened with your boyfriend?”

“He’s not- we’re just friends. Not even friends now.”

“Why?”

“I punched his doorman.”

“What?!” Ramsay laughed.

Theon smirked and clasped his brow. “It was a bad day.”

“What happened?”

“We just were fighting and the guy grabbed me. He thought I was stealing, ‘ _oh look at this Kraken asshole_ ’ - but I wasn’t! The OPPOSITE! I was trying to _not_ do the bad thing, and he got his excuse. There it is! Now he has his reason-”

“To what?”

“Kick me out. I helped him get back into lobbying, and he’s fine now sooo…”

“Do you drink a lot now?”

“No! Sometimes. I shouldn’t be talking to you,” Theon remembered.

“Why? Did Loras tell you that?”

“No! I didn’t tell him about... **that.** ”

“What?”

“You.”

“So you don’t talk to Loras and he was waiting to kick you out but he’s your ‘friend’?”

“Who the fuck knows. We helped each other…”

“Why don’t we help each other?”

“You and me?”

“Yeah. You want that coverup, right?”

“Yeah,” Theon whispered.

“No one will do it without me there. Theon, you don’t have to forgive me.”

Theon sighed. “Yeah… ok. What time tomorrow?”

Ramsay laid back and grinned.


	11. Didn't Know I was Lost

Loras’ brownstone looked harder and colder; strange so soon. 

Theon stared up at the back window he used to stare out of. “Just keep it running.” He leaned down, putting a hand on the taxi’s roof. “I’ll be right back.”

“The  _ meter _ is running,” the driver said, idly rubbing the top of his buzzed head.

“Back in ten!” He jogged down winding driveway and hopped the fence behind it. 

 

Theon had just tucked a blue floral print button up into slate green wool trousers when he heard water running downstairs.  _ Shit.  _

He still hadn’t decided if he should wear a suit jacket;  _ yeah, I’m successful and you’re garbage in a prison _ , a sweater;  _ I’m so busy and happy now that I barely remembered your fucking parole hearing,  _ or this tacky-gorgeous silk print evening jacket because  _ Fuck you, I’m  _ **_RICH_ ** _! _

 

He slipped into his favorite leather penny loafers and jogged downstairs with a dry cleaning bag hung over one arm. 

Loras rushed out from the bathroom in time to see Theon swing around the banister and run toward the back door. 

“THEON!”

“Sorry!”

“Hey!”

“I know, I know. I just-” they raced to the kitchen. Theon got to the back door first and opened it.

Loras slammed it shut. “WHAT are you DOING here?!”

Theon winced. “I just needed a suit.”

“I will SEND your stuff wherever you want.” Loras was still in his pajamas and his magnificent hair was wild.

 

“Ok-”

“Tom let you in?!” 

Theon shrugged and smiled. “He didn’t  _ stop _ me.”

“Why didn’t you call first?”

“I’m sorry. Listen, I slept through my wake up call, there was an accident and construction on King’s Road- I told the driver not to take King’s Road- so I’m just in a huge hurry and there was no-”

Loras grabbed him by the shirt collar and shoved Theon into the wall. “You threatened me.  _ You threatened my family. _ ”

“No, I didn’t!” Theon shoved him away.

“Yes, you did! You kept screaming and thrashing like a maniac while Brienne took you away. You said if I called the cops we were ‘dead’! ”

Theon smiled sheepishly. “So, don’t call the cops. I mean…”

Loras face turned to stone. 

“That was a  _ joke _ . Just a joke! Hey, listen, I talked to my family and got Margaery a deal.”

“What about  _ me _ ?” 

Theon’s stomach dropped. “I really have to go.”

“Did you talk to anyone about helping me?” He closed the space Theon had forced between them.

Theon’s shoulders sank. There was no time for this. “I talked to my cousin,” he lied. “He’s going to contact my uncle. I’ll know more in a few days.”

Loras eased back. “Really?”

Theon nodded sadly.

“You don’t know what this means to me.” Loras blinked a few times and looked away. “Call me later. Will you do that?”

“Me or my cousin will come by. For fuck’s sake watch what you say and text and  _ don’t _ use my name!” Theon nervously fussed with his hair. “I fucking  _ have to go _ now.”

“Alright. Yeah, come back tonight. We should talk.” Loras picked up the dry cleaning bag Theon dropped and led him to the front door. 

“Your uncle?” he whispered as he undid all the locks. “Like,  _ that  _ uncle?”

“I have two left and one’s a librarian in South America.” Theon tapped his foot impatiently.

“Isn’t he dead?” Loras said, still whispering.

“Oh, yeah. For the third time,” Theon laughed. 

“Wow. That’s right! He faked his death be-”

Theon opened the door then shoved past to open the gate. Just as he was free, Loras spoke behind him.

“Tom, how did Theon talk his way past-”

The doorman turned around and growled.

  
  


The driver blatantly stared at Theon through the rearview mirror again.

“Do you hab any napkimth?”

The driver opened his center console and offered Theon a few. 

“Thanth.” He pressed the wad to his bleeding nostril. 

“Still going to Newt Firell?”

Theon nodded.

“Hey! Hey, you’re one of those er, uh island people. Are you in the mob?”

Theon shook his head.

“Where’s your accent?”

Theon took out his wallet and shoved a bill in the man’s face. “No talkink.”

The driver took the money. 

Theon sighed and leaned into the door. Maybe he should change his mind…

“Do you have any tattoos?”

“Gib me my money bahk.”

The driver lifted both hands instead then mimicked zipping his mouth. 

It was quiet the rest of the ride but Theon didn’t trust the hungry way the driver eyed him, searching for some possibility. 

 

Theon insisted on paying when the cab arrived and told the driver not to wait. Once the car was gone, he was forced to turn and face something much worse. 

He had never gone in through the visitor's entrance before. A guard stopped him and asked for ID. She shook her head as he opened his wallet. “No cash.”

“Well… do you want to hold it for me?”

“I’ll take the bag too, sir.” She walked away then and came back to the gate window empty-handed and scanned his license. “Greyjoy?” She looked up at him and scoffed. “Hmm.”

“I’m on the list. My friend’s lawyer said-”

“Go on and proceed to inspection, Mr. Greyjoy.”

 

Ramsay turned hearing quick footsteps then grimaced.  _ What the fuck is  _ **_he_ ** _ doing here? _

“Ok,” some dumb cunt redneck said shuffling his papers on the long grey folding table before him. “Good afternoon, everyone.”

Ramsay turned around and faced the three dumbshit retirees pretending to decide his fate. They must get off on it; having this feeling of superiority and power of people younger, stronger, and more alive than themselves. 

“First, we have some questions for Mr. Bolton. Then, you’ll have an opportunity to make a statement.”

Petyr rose quickly and walked to the back of the small office. Ramsay caught him whispering to a guard as the head dumbshit blathered on and on. 

“Actually, in consideration for Mr. Bolton’s time, I’d like to hear supporting testimony first,” Baelish purred in his slimy ass way. “If you would be so kind.”

“That’s fine.” Head dumbshit spewed. “Mr. Greyjoy?”

Ramsay spun, grabbing the back of his chair. 

There he stood, in the doorway with huge black sunglasses and a hand in his pocket. He was a wearing a shiny gauche jacket over expensive-looking mismatched, clothes;  _ just like  _ the pictures Ramsay first saw of him.  _ Just like _ the photos he kept in a notebook, which he showed Theon one special night.

 

Ramsay’s attorney ushered Theon into a row of folding chairs behind Ramsay’s. Father Tarley smiled sadly and gave a little wave. Theon tried to look relaxed while the lawyer told the board about Ramsay’s exemplary behavior and all the plans in place for his release. 

While testimony began, Theon kept repeating what he would say in his head over and over and over.

He noticed a tiny girl, sitting by Tarley on the other side of the room, wrapped in an enormous knit jacket. She had a faraway look and shook like she was cold.

“Mr. Greyjoy?” Ramsay’s attorney hissed, suddenly at his side.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been called to speak.”

“Oh.” That was fast. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Can you remove your sunglasses?” One of the board members asked.

Theon inhaled deeply and complied with a dry smirk. 

 

Ramsay’s grin quickly cooled. His thick fingertips dug into the back of his shitty chair. “What happened to your face?”

Theon kept looking ahead like Ramsay wasn’t even there. 

“Mr. Greyjoy, have you prepared a statement?” Petyr asked cheerfully. Fucking idiot. He never learned how to act like a normal human. Everything he does screams  _ liar. _

“Yes.”

“Greyjoy?” The hag on the board murmured, quickly searching her papers.

“Actually, I’d like to know the answer. What, uh…” dickbag number two waved a finger at Theon’s shoulder. “Is that blood on your jacket?”

“No!” Theon laughed. “Coffee stain. I, uh, made the mistake of wearing my new sunglasses.” He slipped them back out of his pocket to show them off.  _ “Alexander McQueen.” _

Ramsay rolled his eyes.

“I was texting a client and fell right on my face when I stepped off the platform.” Theon’s face began to flush. He rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. “Funny thing is, now I have to wear them all day and crash into more things.”

“They love him,” Baelish whispered in Ramsay’s ear. And, sure, the hag was chuckling in a maternal way. Head dumbshit was trying not to smile. Great. But it was hard for Ramsay to ignore the scabs on Theon’s knuckles, his short blond hair that was all wrong, the black eye, the swollen nose, and the way  _ he is looking  _ **_right past me._ **

“When I met Bolton, it was here in prison. Father Tarley can tell you I was using and dealing drugs, leading the Krakens, and-”

“Are you fighting?” Ramsay interrupted. 

Theon swallowed and glanced his way. “I…”

Petyr touched Ramsay’s forearm, but he jerked it away. “Are you hanging around Krakens?”

“No!” Theon faced him at last; looked right at Ramsay with his big sea green eyes. 

“You know that will get you killed. I thought you were  _ doing better?” _

“I…” Theon looked around the room for some voice of reason to intervene. “I didn’t come here to answer questions! I only came to say I’m not in a gang, I’m not doing drugs, or sleeping around-” Theon swallowed his rushing words and started turning a splotchy red on his neck and cheeks. He cleared his throat. “So, Bolton kept me out of all that.”

“Exactly.” Petyr stood. “I did have one question, Mr. Greyjoy. Are you aware that a few months ago your family, the Kraken operation that is, was dismantled from top to bottom in a historic bust?”

“I… I heard something about that recently.”

Petyr smiled and took out an image his assistant had printed off a politics blog. “Is this you?”

 

Theon didn’t want to touch the paper the lawyer held out to him. “Yes.” He looked at Ramsay.  _ No one following me? _

“And who are you having lunch with in this photo?”

“Secretary Targaryen and that’s Speaker Araneae.”

“Do you know where this photo was taken?”

Theon openly stared at Ramsay as he answered in a steady voice. “Yes. That’s a resort in Braavos. I was there for a conference.”

“That’s right,” the lawyer confirmed, as if Theon didn’t know. “Hundreds of miles away from the Krakens while their operations were being raided, Mr. Greyjoy was working for the well regarded, Tyrell backed, Prosper Consulting Firm. Who, would you say, was most instrumental in getting you from being shot by the ATF that day on the Honeywine, to enjoying a lunch in a posh resort before attending your next break out session?”

Theon’s mouth went dry. He tried to swallow. “My old cellmate, Bolton.”

 

The lawyer and board asked a few more trivial questions and then, “You’re both free to go,” the lawyer said.

Theon stood and glanced at Ramsay before he left. Ramsay gave him a small smile, which Theon didn’t like the look of. 

 

Finally outside the prison, Theon forgot about the dry cleaning bag and cash. He had to leave. He shouldn’t have come. He needed a fucking smoke and drink, but he couldn’t even get a signal in this fucking middle-of-nowhere shithole! Empty fields ran out to the horizon all around him; an ocean of dirt. Here he was on Alcatraz. 

“May I offer you a ride?” 

Theon turned and ran his fingers through his hair. “You were, uh, in the hearing.”

“That’s right.” The handsome man smiled and offered his hand. “Domeric.”


	12. The Mercy Seat

Theon rubbed the back of his hot neck. “Could I borrow your phone instead?”

“Of course,” Domeric said softly with a low, rumbly voice. He was clean, shiny, fine lines and cool colors. Neat black hair contrasted with his moon-white skin. “We have a mutual friend, I think.”

“We do?”

“I heard Baelish say you work for the Tyrells. Willas and I went to Law School together.” Domeric strolled over to a silver Tesla.

Theon followed. “Yeah! I mean, I met him briefly. He seems cool.”

“He’s very nice.” Domeric had an engaging smile. The door locks popped open and he dipped inside. He re-emerged to offer his phone with a tilt of his head. “Friend of yours?”

Theon glanced around. He saw the girl in the big sweater hurrying to a little old Chevy, then he saw the greasy man snapping photos and ducked into Domeric’s car. “ _Shit.”_

Domeric lowered himself into the driver’s seat and started the silent engine.

Theon rolled down the window and covered his face to shout, “FUCKING REALLY, CHARLIE?!”

A man with a messy beard and stained flannel paunch waved with one hand and held a big black camera in the other.

Theon rolled the window back up and slid his sunglasses back on. “That guy’s from this shitty magazine. I think it’s just a website now, actually. He popped up from under lots of bridges and sewers during my trial.”

Domeric didn’t say anything but seemed amused. (Or at least not bothered.)

Theon cleared his throat. “So, Willas… you went to Law School, you said?”

“We used to ride together, before his accident.”

“Shit. Was he wearing a helmet?”

“Yes, a Polo helmet.”

“Right. Horses are so dangerous, even for the best riders,” Theon bullshitted.

“Where am I taking you?”

“The subway downtown town at Builder and First, if that’s alright,” Theon said, deciding to be cautious.

“It’s wonderful,” Domeric rumbled softly. “I’m headed that way anyhow.”

 

Ramsay felt his smile was too tight. Maybe the parole board would interpret it as anxious instead of fuming. Baelish looked happy with everything, but Ramsay didn’t value his slimy opinion very much.

“In conclusion,” Petyr sniveled happily, standing next to Ramsay with his hands clasped behind his back.

It was almost over. _Hurry the fuck up._

“... Mr. Bolton has shown remorse since the day of his arrest; he confessed, pleaded guilty, cooperated with law enforcement from that day until this. He’s been an exemplary inmate who has mentored his peers, and even worked with prison personnel to reduce gang violence. In fact, as you can see in the note from Warden Qyburn, deaths have dropped by 27% since-”

“Murders,” Father Tarley corrected.

Ramsay’s fingernails dug into the first decent pants he’d worn since he was brought into this shithole, pressing painfully into his thigh so Ramsay could maintain his hopeful but penitent mask

“Yes,” Baelish hissed. “Isn’t that what I said?” he asked the board, shrugging.

“You said ‘deaths’ but deaths have increased.”

Ramsay yanked Petyr's sleeve to make him bend down, then whispered in his ear.

“There are many unsolved bizarre deaths which have not been investigated or have been ruled as accidents.”

“And suicides,” Baelish interjected with a sharp smile. “Isn’t that right, Father Tarley?”

Tarley pulled back then sat up a little taller. “Well, they were _ruled_ suicides…”

“Father Tarley, I appreciate your devotion to these inmates but perhaps this discussion could be had between yourself and Warden at a more fitting time and place. Afterall, it’s not your success or failures as a counselor that we’re here to discuss,” Petyr pretended to reassure him innocently.

“I think we’ve heard enough,” head dumbshit announced. “Are you ready to vote?”

The other two board members nodded on either side of him.

 

Downtown Winterfell’s outline loomed on the horizon. The drive was pretty nice, but Theon couldn’t wait to be behind a locked hotel door.

“Is this Debussy?” Theon asked.

“No, but that’s a great guess. I love his works as well. This is Georgs Pelecis, he certainly isn’t as well known. You should give me your email. I’ll send you a playlist.”

Theon smiled back and rubbed his neck again. “Cool. Thanks. So, what happens now?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean. With Ramsay?”

“I meant… I didn't have a parole hearing. Is it like a trial? Does it take days? If he’s released when will he get out?”

“Hmm,” Domeric tilted his head slightly. “Well, I think it’s a matter of minutes or hours, not days. I think it usually takes weeks or months to go through out-processing, but Ramsay’s in a very special position, isn’t he?”

“You’ve never been to a parole hearing before?”

Domeric gave Theon a sideways glance then changed lanes. “No, I can’t say I have. I’ve been to a dissertation defense. Ah, I see. No, I’m a _corporate_ lawyer; acquisitions mainly, contracts, nothing this exciting.”

Theon's brow furrowed. “Well… wait, you’re not Ramsay’s lawyer?”

“No. No, I’m **Domeric** … Ramsay’s brother.”

“Oh fuck!”

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.” Domeric frowned slightly. “Didn’t he tell you about me?”

“No, he did. Right! ‘Dom’ is short for Domeric. I get it,” Theon rambled. “I thought you were supposed to be, like, a lot older than him.”

Domeric smirked and came to a stoplight. “I am.” He tapped the steering wheel with one finger. “Don’t you see the resemblance?”

“I do now. You’re just so… calm! You’re not so…” Theon raised two clutching hands and sneered.

Domeric laughed. It was pretty fucking cute, not that Theon could afford to care right now. He smelled really good too. Domeric warmed and brightened. “He told me about _you_.”

“Oh god.” Theon covered his face with both hands. “What did he… like what?”

“He really likes you. I actually think he loves you.” Domeric ran his tongue over his teeth and looked out his window. “Which is strange, as he’s never loved anyone. Or anything.”

Theon felt like he was spinning and continued to hold his head. “Oh.”

“Is that a difficult position to be in?”

Theon’s hands fell away as he looked up slowly. “What?”

Domeric just looked Theon over then pulled into a station lot. He parked the car and turned to Theon with a gentle expression. “He thinks you’re very clever.”

“He does?”

“Excuse me, please.” Domeric answered his phone. “Hello, Petyr. How did it go?” He glanced at Theon and gave a nod. “That’s fantastic. Just a moment. He’ll be out this week, Theon.”

“Thanks.” Theon’s mouth stayed open a moment, but instead of speaking he got out of the car and slammed the door.

Domeric watched him flee through his pristine windshield.

“Mr. Greyjoy left a dry cleaning bag with a hoodie and some money at the prison’s reception gate. Would you tell him to come get it?” Petyr asked.

“Oh, surely they’ll hold it for Ramsay, won’t they?” _I bet he’d love to see the address on the ticket._ Domeric smiled to himself.


	13. Miss Me Blind

Days later, Sam was doing his best to inform an inmate of his evaluation results before evening group therapy started. “You’re going to be taken to a hospital. The staff will simply monitor your seizures.”

“I don’t have seizures,” Gorrión calmly insisted. His hands were folded on his lap. “I have divine visions. You know this, Francis. You’re a saint yourself.” Gorrión leaned forward, glowing with the self-assuredness of a maniac. “Why do you persist in denying it to me?”

“The doctors are likely to prescribe something to control your… fits.”

“Never. I must return to the Vatican. Come with me, Francis.”

“Tarley. Remember? Or Sam if you like, but-”

The lights cut out.

“It’s a demon,” Gorriòn whispered.

“No, no. It’s alright.” Sam stood and felt his way, stumbling around his desk. “Just a bad fuse again.” He stopped, hearing his office door lock jiggle then click.

“Wait, don’t lock the door. We’re still in here!” Sam called.

A hand clenched Sam’s shoulder then something hit his side. A cold intrusion shoved between his bottom ribs then slid out on a bubbling gush of warmth. Sam found he had crumpled on the floor and was gripping his side. Blood oozed of through his tingling fingers.

“I spent a lot of time here in the dark, after lights out. I guess you’ve always walked in the light here, have you?”

“Ramsay?”

“No. Couldn’t be. I was transferred to gen pop, _in spite of you_.”

Gorrión began to chant in Latin, under his breath.

“You betrayed me, Sam. You were supposed to **help** me.”

“You’re getting out!” Sam tried to sit up and crawl back, cold and weak, away from the giddy voice. “Why would you risk your freedom?!”

“There’s no one to help me stop.”

“What?” Sam’s shoe was caught. He groaned and fell onto his back. Stars shimmered peacefully in and out of the pitch black wrapping around him.

 

Officer Hoat came to unlock Tarley’s door, ten minutes after group should have started. Inmates crowded around him though he barked the usual obscenities. After struggling with the lock, he turned on the lights and found Inmate Gorrión clutching a bloody shiv to his chest and humming to himself.

“Where the fuck is Father Tarley, inmate?”

Gorrion looked up with a serene smile and tears in his eyes. “I told him. You see?” He pointed to the floor. “It’s the stigmata.”

Hoat marched in and stopped in front of the body. “Wow.” Tarley’s feet and palms had been pierced, blood pooled around his side. “Crazy bastard.”

Greyworm shoved his through the other prisoners and dropped to Father Tarley’s side. He felt for a pulse at Tarley’s wrist and neck. Greyworm looked up at everyone and shook his solemn head.

Hoat turned to Gorrión. “Well, your holiness, what in the fuck happened here?”

Still cradling the sacred relic, which the demon had yielded unto him, Gorrión cast his eyes to heaven. “His last miracle.”

Hoat called for backup. The inmates got on the ground once the sirens went off.

“Inmate Gorrión has a knife.” Hoat brandished his baton. “Inmate appears delusional and hostile.”

 

Theon floated in a donut alone in the hotel pool, wearing his Alexander McQueen sunglasses, drinking scotch from a silver flask and pissing in the chlorinated water.

 

He’d kept up with all his meetings, but something was off and soon fewer clients met with him. It was hard to concentrate lately. It had also been a huge pain in the ass to change his phone number. He knew he still hadn’t given his new number to all his clients and lost some contacts in the switch.

At least Ramsay couldn’t text or call him. Theon didn’t miss him at all. It was only a relief.

Nothing was missing after a few drinks.

Anyhow, Margaery was happy with everything Theon had done for her company. Olenna was still satisfied with the political machinations he’d helped to set in motion.

Loras had asked where to send Theon’s things, the day after Ramsay’s hearing, so Theon had rented a storage unit a few blocks from his hotel. He didn’t ask if he could move back in.  

When his sandy brown roots had started showing, Theon decided to dye his hair black.

 _Blond never fit me,_ he had thought, holding a box of dye in a grocery store. He set the bleach back on the shelf, not wanting to get burned again.

When Margaery asked him over to her grandmother's he'd pretended to be sick then went out clubbing instead.

 

There had to be some kind of resolution with Loras soon. Maybe he could drown here and his bobbing, bloated corpse would be fished out by hotel maintenance. Or maybe he should take the first step and try reaching out.

 

A young doorman stood with his arms crossed in front of an iron gate of flowing flowers. The same flowers Theon had drawn over and over in prison.

Ramsay swallowed the wound, and it ached in his chest. He looked the doorman directly in his reflective sunglasses. “Loras, please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Domeric Bolton. I’m a friend of his brother.” Ramsay lifted the dry cleaning bag and gave it a jiggle. “Theon left this at Newt Firell.”

The doorman mumbled into an intercom by the door, then a buzzer sounded and the gate rolled out of Ramsay’s way.

   

    Ramsay was waiting at the entry, watching the stairs when Loras surprised him by entering through a narrow door to his side. He froze mid-step. “You’re not Domeric.”

    Ramsay grinned. “No. I sure as shit am not.”

    Loras looked at the dry cleaning bag Theon left with the last time they saw each other, then the handsome stranger with an ironic smile and dark hair holding it.  “Are you his cousin?” Loras whispered.

    Well, that was interesting. Ramsay pressed his lips and smirked.

    “I thought he wouldn’t do it!” Loras heaved a sigh and grabbed his head with both hands. “I can’t believe he really did this! Wait, yes, sit down. Come sit down here. What do you need to know? How much is it?”

His fine clothes were disheveled and dark circles gave weight to his eyes, but Loras still strode around tall and graceful and directed Ramsay to a small library.

    “Theon paid for it,” Ramsay improvised. “He wants his hands completely clean of this deal. He didn’t tell me much, actually.”

    “I know. I know he doesn’t want to be involved in anything illegal. I’ll pretend this meeting never happened.” Loras came to a leather chair and pointed to the seat. “Please, sit. I’ll still pay you. It’s all I care about.”

    _I thought Tyrells knew how to make deals,_ Ramsay thought, inwardly rolling his eyes. “What do you want? Nightshade? Guns?”

    “A hit.”

    Ramsay scoffed. “Well then, no wonder he called me.” He decided to sit after all. “I don’t need your money. But I do need a simple favor.”

    “Of course!”

    “Wonderful. The thing is, I’m not Theon’s cousin.”

“You aren’t?”

“I’m his ex.” Ramsay leaned closer with a razor sharp grin. “How do you feel about that?”

“Feel?” Wheels spun in Loras’ dull head. He sat opposite of Ramsay on a stuffy paisley chair. “We aren’t, um.” Loras batted the idea away with one hand. “The person I want you to-”

“Talk to.”

“... murdered my husband. You see? I haven’t been interested in dating. Neither was Theon.” Loras tried to smile. “Now I see why.”

Ramsay swallowed thickly and gave a slight nod. “Good.”

“So, you’re a… hitman?”

“Of course not. I just talk to people and make things happen, much like yourself. We’re talking right now, Loras. Who else should I talk to?”

“Stannis Baratheon.”

“Fantastic. Give me two weeks. But first, that favor.”


	14. Lost My Light

Ramsay looked over the words and numbers Loras has scribbled on his tasteful floral stationery again then tucked it into his pocket. “Are you happy with this deal?”

“It’s acceptable.” Loras sat in his stuffy chair swirling a warm cordial his lips hadn’t touched. His home wasn’t a tomb anymore, but it was so quiet without Theon.

“How generous of you.” Ramsay’s ironic smile stayed with him, even as he drank.

Loras’ glass clinked on the table top beside him. He sat up taller and clasped his hands in front of his chest. “It’s funny, I don’t recall seeing you at any events with Domeric. I didn’t even know he had a brother.”

“That _is_ very funny.” Ramsay dropped his glass onto the pedestal beside his chair as well. “You know what’s even funnier? I don’t remember seeing you in prison.”

Loras jerked then shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“At Newt Firell. Remember?”

Loras frowned. “My sentence was overturned.”

“I met Theon in D Block. I hear that’s where he met you.”

“My record is expunged.”

“I mean… I’m not a lawyer or physicist but that doesn’t actually mean you weren’t physically there, does it?”

“I wasn’t there for long.”

“No? I think he was looking for you when I met him. I heard he used to follow you around everywhere.”

“Hmm.” Loras smiled to himself. “I guess he did. I wasn’t there for very long.”

“So you’ve said. But you and Theon lived and worked together for quite a long time right here, in your nice little townhouse, while I was all alone in prison.”

“What are you implying?”

“Did you fuck him?”

“What?!” Loras spat. “Who the-” but Loras remembered who he was talking to before he asked rhetorically; the man he gave information to in exchange for a hit. “Nothing happened between Theon and myself.”

“And just how, exactly, do you expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t WANT anyone else! Yes, I know… we could have- maybe in another life… if things were different. I know my family would love nothing more; I’ve heard about **that** for months! _Move on. Find someone else. Theon’s so good for you!_ ”

Loras jumped up and started pacing as he talked, gesturing expansively. “There IS no one else! All I have left now is justice for my husband! I don’t have him bumping into me when I brush my teeth or getting water all over the bathroom in the morning. I don’t have him to bring coffee to. He’d always say, ‘How do you make this so good?’ It was just coffee from a Keurig, but I put the creamer in first because he liked it that way, and he made me feel special every day because of that one stupid thing. He isn’t here to text me animal gifs and political memes while he’s in meetings or listen to other people’s conversations at restaurants with me and laugh at things I can’t even explain to you because it was ours! I have NOTHING but pain and nothing to do for my husband except to kill his killer.”

Loras remembered to exhale. “Theon and I could live together because we didn't ask one another questions or have expectations.” He tried not to wonder what Theon thought he was agreeing to when he jumped at the chance to help Loras the day that he left and things broke between them.

Loras swiveled on his heel and kneaded his thick springy curls while wrapping his other arm around his chest. “This man I need you to-”

_“- talk to.”_

“Is Renly’s own brother.”

“Who’s Renly?”

Loras pounded his chest answering, “MY RENLY!”

Ramsay nodded solemnly. “Stannis Baratheon stole him from you?”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t move on. You love him too much. You’re too... loyal.”

_“Yes.”_

“And Theon?”

Loras stopped and turned.

Ramsay wasn’t shaken by his outburst, but sat listening intently. “Was he loyal?”

Loras thought a moment. “Well, he never left unless it was for business. If he did anything with anyone, I never heard about it. He wasn’t like… before. He likes to be alone now. We had that in common.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me. This is why Theon chose me.”

Loras started pacing again, slowly now, ill at ease in his own skin. Ramsay stood and took a leisurely step toward his well-treaded path.

“I don’t do this anymore, of course. But, after hearing your story, I can make an exception. I agree to our deal. Do you?”

Loras glanced at the extended hand of the hitman in his library. The ‘ex’ his best friend had met in prison. “Why doesn’t Theon want to talk to you?”

Ramsay slung an arm around Loras and shook his head. “Why doesn’t he want to talk to you? Don’t you see what’s happening?”

“No…”

“Hasn’t his behavior changed? Has he been more jumpy, secretive, distracted, moody?” Ramsay sighed and looked up trying to make an _educated guess_. “Has he been violent? Maybe even for no reason?”

Loras rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. Yes; all of that. He knocked my doorman out and kept hitting him. He was like… I had to take Tom to MedExpress and give him three paid days off.”

“Well, Theon is an addict, Loras.” Ramsay took both Loras’ shoulders. “You didn’t save your husband, but you can avenge him and let me save Theon.”

Loras nodded. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Good.”

Loras’ intercom buzzed by the library entrance. He sighed and went to answer it. “Yes?”

“Uh…”

“What is it?”

“Domeric… Bolton is, uh-”

Loras looked at Ramsay whose expression darkened considerably. “Have him wait. I’m coming out anyhow.”

 

“Ramsay,” Dom said, shaking his head.

Ramsay bit his tongue as the floral iron gate slowly rolled by.

“Do you go around impersonating me?”

Ramsay shoved past his brother and headed for his car- where the fuck was his car?

Loras rubbed the back his head and smiled uneasily.

“Please send your family my warm regards,” Domeric said to Loras on the stoop of his brownstone.

 

He walked to the spot where Ramsay was frozen in rage on the sidewalk.

“Where is it?”

“Your little Dodge Charger? You were supposed to have lunch with Walda, Ramsay. Luton and I drove here, just in case you got lost.”

Ramsay got in Dom’s uppity fucking Tesla and slammed the passenger door. “I told her I didn’t have time today.”

Dom shut his door quietly. “And Father told you to go anyhow. And here we are. I think you missed me. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to pick you up.”

Dom’s sleek silent black car drove away from Loras, who watched from his stoop until he was out of sight.

“Well, the little Tyrell is still alive. That’s good.”

“Please. I’m not going to kill him in broad fucking daylight-”

“Using my name, with that tacky crayon red Charger sitting right in front of the crime scene. Right. Who could ever be so stupid?” Dom offered an upturned hand expectantly. Then beckoned with his fingers when his palm sat empty. “Ramsay.”

_“What?”_

“Should I pull over? Find a nice secluded spot to talk things out?”

Ramsay rolled his eyes then pulled a switchblade from his boot. He dropped it in Dom’s waiting hand and smiled thinking about the other ways he could give it to his brother.

“Thank you.” Domeric tucked the knife away in his coat pocket. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“It’s too bright. I hate it.” Ramsay adjusted the seat so he could lean back.

“Jeyne was at your hearing.”

“I saw.”

“It’s nice that she didn’t speak against you.”

“Pfft. What can she say?” Ramsay went to change the music from some intolerable opera to the radio, but Dom smacked his hand away. “I guess Luton has my car? Did you take up hotwiring while I was incarcerated?”

“Father had the keys copied.”

“Oh. He’s taking it to Father’s estate then?”

“Yes.” Ramsay sat up and scanned their crowded cheery southern surroundings. “Where are we going?”

Domeric smiled slightly. “I thought you’d like to see Theon.”

Ramsay slowly sank back and crossed his arms. “Why? You didn’t follow him to wherever he’s staying, like I asked you to.”

“He ran off before I could stop him. But Loras knows where he’s living and you just spoke with Loras. Do you know where he’s living now?”

Ramsay pulled out the stationary in his pocket and looked it over again. “Why aren’t you taking me back to Father’s estate?”

“Because I don’t think you should live with Father. You’re just a weapon to him.”

“I know.”

“He thinks you’re a monster, but I remember how you took care of your mother-”

“Don’t talk about her.”

“See?”

“Do you ever blink, Domeric?”

“You care about her. You were a devoted son.”

“Have you ever farted? You had to have, at least once in your life. I wonder what your face looked like…”

“You cared enough about that Adam, was it, to go to prison.

“ _Alyn._ Don’t talk about him either.”

“And now you love Theon.”

“How do you masturbate? Do you just have that same dead expression and then you cum a neat squirt of hand sanitizer?”

“I think you and Theon should live with me.”

Ramsay’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “We want to be alone.”

“It’s a condition of your parole-”

Ramsay sprang up and clutching the paper in his fist. “Theon has a job, he’s not a minor, he’s-”

“- a felon.”

Ramsay’s shoulders dropped. “Well…”

“You can live with me, or Father and Walda. Those are your choices for the next eighteen months. I know you can be more than Father’s junkyard dog.”

 _“I am.”_ Ramsay collapsed into the passenger seat with a huff. He put Loras’ stationary back in his pocket.

“How do you think Father will see Theon?”

“I know." Ramsay rubbed his mouth and sighed through his nose. “There are cameras all over hotels. I can’t just show up and pull him out.”

“Are we kidnapping Theon, Ramsay?”

Ramsay threw his hands up and scoffed. “From WHO? What are you talking about?”

Domeric looked Ramsay over.

“He’s mine!”

“Ah. So, do we have a plan?”

 _“_ **_I_ ** _._ yes, **I** do have a plan. What do you want out of this anyway?”

Domeric stared at Ramsay almost too long to be safe while driving before facing the windshield again. “I don’t blame you for the things you’ve done to me. I blame Father and I would breathe and sleep much easier if you weren’t back under his thumb.”

Ramsay chewed the inside of his cheek for a few quiet moments. “Let’s get something to eat. Loras will call me with the time and place soon. Maybe you can come if you’re so fucking invested.”

Dom smiled dryly and turned up his music.


	15. In Somebody Else's Sky

Domeric’s ice blue eyes flicked up to Ramsay’s. “Stop fussing.”

 _“I’m not,”_ Ramsay hissed. His square jaw pressed forward then rolled back. “This makes me look rich?”

“You look extremely handsome.” He finished adjusting the cuffed sleeves he’d rolled up just below Ramsay’s elbows and stood up straight to admire his project. “Very good. Sit down now.”

“Why?”

Dom had a good five inches on his younger brother and looked down at him with the same patience as always. He could still see the rounder face, the far more pronounced eyes Ramsay had as a child because he still wore the exact same expressions.

Dom took Ramsay by the shoulders and pushed him back into the couch. “I’m going to fix your hair.”

Ramsay’s features were hardening and muscles tightening, so Domeric leaned down and touched his knee. “You should **know** you look rich. You’re old money. Act like it.”

Ramsay pulled back the inch or so he could and tried to force himself to be comfortable in Dom’s pristine living room, this close to his brother. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s in your nature. You’re so close to being everything you were meant to be.”

Ramsay’s tense posture relaxed and opened.

“You enjoyed shopping today?”

“Yes.”

“You deserve all this, don’t you?”

“No shit, I do.”

“That’s right. No shit, you do. You’re a _Bolton_.” His grip tightened on Ramsay’s knee. “This money, this privilege, this lifestyle is your birthright. Who’s going to take it from you?”

“No one,” Ramsay snapped.

“That’s right, Ramsay. Believe it and start acting like it. Are you going to take what’s yours or not?”

Ramsay shot up, forcing Domeric to rise with him. “YES!”

“Who’s better than us?”

“No one!”

“What family do you fantasize about at night while you cry onto your pillow? Who else do you wish you could be? What last name do you aspire to have? Lannister? Tyrell? Stark?”

“FUCK NO!”

Domeric grinned. “Because we’re fucking Boltons.” He poked Ramsay’s chest with one finger. “You are a fucking Bolton, Ramsay. No one can ever take that away from you. Do you look rich enough for these dumbshits?”

Ramsay grinned back. “Fuck yes, I do!”

“Good. Now sit.” Dom shoved him backward. “I’m going to fix your hair.”

Ramsay sat as Domeric walked away.

He sang Theon’s new number in his head again to keep from jumping up bursting through the front door. He could do this the right way. He believed he would get what was his.

“They’re going to love you,” Dom said, coming back with a matte brown tube of hair product. “And if they don’t?”

“Fuck them.” Ramsay smiled to himself and started texting while Dom made what he wanted of Ramsay’s unruly hair.

 

Loras checked his phone after it buzzed.

Willas swam up to the deck where Loras sat and held onto the side of the pool. “What’s wrong?”

Loras looked up after he finished texting. “I have to get ready.”

“You aren’t ready?”

Loras stood and started walking around the pool again. “I don’t know.”

Willas slowly spun to watch his little brother circle the warm, calm water. “Are you nervous about seeing Theon? You know Maggy will smooth things over.”

Loras grunted softly. Willas was unsure if it was in agreement or not.

“He wouldn’t come if he didn’t want to make up with you. What happened anyhow?”

“Nothing, really.” Loras scrunched and pulled at his curls. “I want to change into swimming trunks,” he decided, as if that would fix things somehow.

“Ok.” Willas sank back and pushed off the poolside with his good foot.

“Well…” Loras threw an annoyed hand up.

“What?” Then Willas frowned, understanding. “I’m fine.”

“No.” Loras switched directions and circled the pool in the opposite direction, still worrying a lock of springy hair. “I’m not going to just leave you out here all alone. I wouldn’t do that when it’s dark and you’re…” Loras heard water falling into water and turned to see Willas had stood abruptly.

“I’m _what?”_

A flash of headlights swooped across deck gate.

“Maggy’s here!” Loras hurried across the soft limestone and gripped the warm waist-high metal with both hands. He heard Theon’s voice and started walking to the pagoda, then quickly changed his mind and hung about the pool, watching the entry.

Finally, Theon and Margaery emerged from the softly lit path and came through the swinging gate.

Margaery smiled and winked at Loras then stepped to the side to unveil Theon for him.

Loras shoved a hand into his pocket. “Hi.”

Theon grinned. His clothes were ostentatious and well tailored to his toned but small frame. He made ugly clothes look couture and secondhand clothes look designer. Loras felt, unexpectedly, that he loved that about Theon. “You’re too thin,” he blurted out.

Theon laughed and walked past to the pagoda. “I’ll eat your food then.”

“I told him the same thing, Loras.” Margaery slid an arm around his waist. “No one’s taking care of him.”

Loras narrowed his eyes.

Margaery searched his face for what was bothering him.

He tried to apologize with a softer expression and gently squeezed her shoulders.

“Don’t you notice something about Theon?” She said under her breath, raising her eyebrows and playing with her hair.

Willas swam over and pulled himself up so that his forearms and elbows rested on the deck. “Maggy, guess who's coming over?”

Loras quickly separated from his sister and approached Theon who was making a plate of cheese and bread. “Do you want to swim?”

Theon glanced up. “I never learned how.”

“What?”

“What?” Margaery echoed.

“Aren’t you…” Willas started, then sank back into the water.

“You’re from the Iron Islands,” Loras finished.

Theon seemed to find that funny. “I’m from a lot of places.”

“That reminds me! Look what I got you!” Loras darted past Theon and dug through the messenger bag he’d left on his grandmother’s empty seat. “Here.” He forgot to warn Theon before tossing it but Theon caught the metal gift after it bounced off the table.

“A flask. Heh.” Theon smiled broadly and held it up to the soft white lights dotting the pagoda’s wooden frame. “There’s a hole.” He poked at the indent, which was far more shallow than it looked.

“It’s a Kraken flask.” Loras turned, thinking he had heard the gate open but no one was there.

“Oh, it’s supposed to be from a bullet. Like it was-”

 _“Plundered,”_ Margaery said with cheerful tact.

“Ha. Thanks.”

Loras walked toward Theon until there were just a few steps between them. “I put some of my dad’s cognac in there.”

“Really?!” Theon hurried to unscrew the top and took a thoughtful swig, letting the taste linger on his palate before swallowing. “That is fucking amazing. That shit is smoother than my moves.”

Loras snorted. Then he suddenly felt the need to sit down and walked back to the pool’s edge to drop his legs in the water.

Theon came up behind him, standing just out of view.

Margaery told Theon, “He only smiles this much around you.”

“You should let Margaery try the cognac.”

Theon sat beside Loras, crossing his legs. “Why? She likes wine more than liquor.”

“She gave you that rum, remember?” Loras kicked his leg and watched the ripples spread throughout the pool. The underwater lights turned from turquoise to red.

Theon looked up and offered the flask. “It’s fucking good.”

“Mmm. Yes.” Margaery coughed and handed it back. “Are you staying in the pool awhile?”

“Yeah.” Willas dove underwater and shot across the pool like a dart, popping up at the deep end.

“I’ll join you.” Margaery scrunched Loras’ hair as she passed and made her way inside.

“What are you drinking?”

Loras found himself looking into Theon’s large green-blue eyes. “I forgot about your jacket.”

“What?”

“That you don’t want to swim.” He lowered his voice though Willas was under water again. “The track marks haven’t healed?”

Theon’s brow wrinkled over a slow smirk. “Uh, those things take time to disappear. What are you drinking, buddy?”

Loras stood, hearing the gate open for real this time. “I’ll have to take a look.”

“Cool.” Theon took off his bright white Adidas shoes and rolled up his waxed black denim jeans to his hairless knees.

 

Theon’s tired feet sank into the warm pool.

Willas flew through the pink water and shot up in the shallow end smiling. “Would you time me?”

“Sure.” Theon drank some more cognac and dug around his jeans for his phone. His thin sequined mesh baby blue shirt glimmered with dancing pink light.

He found his phone in the front pocket of his black and gold plaid jacket and pulled out a smoke and light as well.

“Alright,” Theon said with a cigarette clenched between his teeth. “Ready?”

Loras approached with quick steps and sat beside him throwing a heavy arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Go!” Theon started the timer on his phone.

“You dyed your hair black?”

Theon turned to find Ramsay at his side, holding him close. The cigarette fell from his mouth, left a thin trail of ash as it rolled, and went out on the soft white limestone.

Ramsay smirked and pinched Theon’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Looks like _mine_.” He pulled Theon in by his face and shoulders for a famished kiss.

Willas popped up through falling water again. “Well?”

Theon tore away with a gasp and, not knowing what else to do, looked at the phone trembling in his hand.

 _All he saw was racing numbers_.

“Domeric!” Willas called out grinning. He swam away using graceful butterfly strokes. “How are you?!”

_Numbers spinning._

Ramsay’s hot breath was on his neck. The bridge of his nose caressed Theon’s cheekbone.

_Saying Nothing._

“Need a drink?” Ramsay lifted the hand Theon still held his gift in and brought it to his parted lips.

_Going nowhere._


	16. Of My Head, of My Heart

“There you go.” Ramsay took the flask from Theon, deciding he’d had enough, and tucked it into the new jacket Domeric said looked _regal_ on him.

The water’s pink dance reflected, glowing, in Theon’s blank eyes. He kept staring but there was nothing to stare at.

“Did you miss me?”  

“Sometimes.”

His knuckles were white like the rim of the pool he was clinging to.

“I tried to call you.”

Theon’s lips parted, but his mouth was empty or his words were stuck.

Ramsay tried to mask his clenched teeth with a smile. “But you changed your number.”

Theon sagged forward when he exhaled and nodded. He still kept staring at the water like it was calling him.

“You know,” the corner of Ramsay’s smile quivered, “I don’t know who else would tell you. I thought you would want to know.”

“What?” Theon mumbled squinting at the water as it turned green.

Loras appeared, hanging about uneasily in Ramsay’s periphery. He put a proprietary hand on Theon’s head and pet his soft hair. “I am so sorry to tell you, but…” Ramsay pressed his lips together like people do, “Father Tarley _passed away.”_

“What?”

“Why, hello there. How nice of you to finally fucking look at me.” Ramsay smirked.

Theon’s brow furrowed. His pupils seemed to dance out of step with the flashing pool light. “Was that a joke?”

“No.” Ramsay furrowed his brow as well. “No, I’m sorry. It isn’t.”

“Oh… oh, my god. Did… why? What happened?”

Ramsay’s free hand rose then dropped fatalistically. “Diabetes.”

“What?” Theon shook his head vigorously now, waking up from his little stupor. “No. No. Why are you saying…”

Ramsay bit his lip then smiled sadly. “It doesn’t matter how.”

“How?!”

Margaery made a little splash diving in the deep end.

Theon tried to get up, but Ramsay squeezed his shoulders harder and held him tight. “He worked in a prison, baby,” he said gently. “He knew the risks he was taking.”

“No.” Theon’s voice cracked. “No! Shit!”

Theon curled up and Ramsay took the boy’s crumpled form into himself greedily. He made a pathetic sound into Ramsay’s chest, right into his pounding heart.

Ramsay nuzzled Theon’s dyed-black hair with his face, grinning to himself. It still felt the same. It still smelled the same.

 

Willas exchanged glances with Margaery. They both turned to Domeric, who was sitting poolside, elbows casually resting on the arms of the wooden deck chair. “He’s told Theon about Father Tarley,” Domeric said with quiet respect. “He had counseled the two of them, helped them both very much. It’s awful.”

Loras stopped his pacing. “Tarley? What about him?”

Domeric’s pitiful expression said enough. “Someone got to him? Yes, that’s awful. I’ll go get my swimming trunks on,” he announced awkwardly.

 

A heavy hand landed on the back of Loras’ neck just before he made it to the sliding glass door. He turned to see Domeric smiling serenely.

“Willas said I could borrow something of his.”

“Sure. Do you remember where his old room was?”

“I think?”

Loras scrunched his hair and huffed.“I’ll show you.”

 

“It’s ok,” Ramsay said after a while. It was so much _more._

Ramsay really had feared that he’d be hollow, aching, cramping and meaningless forever. Everything had felt deserving of his wrath until now. This was the place with meaning; there was home here in this connection. Theon was in his lap and Ramsay was alive again.

But he said It’s ok because that’s what people say and he and Theon were still among them, for the moment.

“Did… did he…” Theon swallowed a wet sob.

“What, sweetie?” Ramsay whispered in his ear.

“Did he hear those- the things I said? That last time? On the phone?”

Ramsay lifted his knees and hugged Theon closer to his chest, pulling him away from the water. “He was a professional…”

_“Fuck.”_

“He wasn’t upset. Not with you. He liked _you.”_

Theon sat up and pushed back to look Ramsay in the face. “Really?” He held tight to Ramsay’s arm when the world suddenly tilted and tried to steady himself.  “Shit.”

“Come sit down. You’re upset.” Ramsay blurred out of view. The pool dropped far below him. Theon felt like he was suddenly on a skyscraper looking down at an emerald ocean. “Huh, shit…” He saw his bare feet glide across the Tyrell estate. “Woah.”

Ramsay happily carried Theon to the pagoda. It appeared to be floating over the sleeping valley, strung with shimmering stars

 

When Loras opened the bedroom door, Domeric was blocking it.

“What’s on your mind?”

“What?” Loras backed away.

Domeric followed. “Wow. Look at your old room. I remember when there was a Muhammad Ali poster on that wall, and Power Rangers cards around your desk, right there.”

Loras quickly glanced where Domeric pointed. “I can’t believe you remember. I didn’t know you that well.”

“No. I guess you don’t.” Domeric slid his large hand around Loras’ fine neck. “Stop moving.” Domeric laid his other hand on Loras’ crown and tilted his head. “There.” He pulled the twisted stem of a torn brown leaf from Loras’ curls. “You must have something on your mind. Look at the trash that burrowed into your pretty golden hair when you weren’t paying attention.”

Loras was frozen. It wasn’t like him: he was a fighter. Still, he just stood there, locked up and mute, with Domeric’s hand around his throat.

“You don’t remember me but I remember you, Loras. I knew you when you were too young to lie or hide yourself. And I know Ramsay. I’m the **only one** who knows him. He is a dangerous man. Do you understand?”

Loras nodded.

Domeric smiled in an easy, reassuring way. “I only mean, if he were to come see you again, using my name or his, I wouldn’t get in his way or ask any favors were I in your position. Is there anything you would like to tell me?” he asked gently.

“No.”

Domeric’s ice blue eyes penetrated Loras until he couldn’t breathe. Finally, he released Loras’ neck. “Well, if he were to contact you, though why would he? Just call me. _Immediately.”_

“O-ok.”

"Great. Let’s go swimming.”

 

When Domeric came back outside, Ramsay was holding Theon in his lap. He’d never looked so happy.

“Hey!” Willas called.

Margaery waved and dove underwater.

Domeric waved back.

Margaery reemerged, her blond hair sleek and darker behind her. Her grin faded because Dom wasn’t looking.“Aren’t you coming in?”

Ramsay looked up at his brother and Domeric realized he’d been staring. 

 

“It doesn’t smell like chlorine anymore,” Theon said.

“No. Not here. You’re so tired, baby.”

“Your shirt is silky. Isn’t that weird? I mean, from before...” Theon’s eyes had closed. Huh. That was weird too. But it was nice. Ramsay felt familiar, maybe even…

Theon sat up and swooned. “Shit! I have to go.”

“Hey.” Ramsay pulled Theon back into the lulling warmth of his embrace. “He really did want to help you."

“I have to go now. I don’t feel good.”

“Tarley believed in you.”

Theon swallowed painfully. “He did? I mean, I know.”

Ramsay snorted. “Honestly, I think you may have been the only reason he wanted to help me.”

“Why?”

“He thought we were good for each other.”

Theon’s eyes opened. How long had they been closed? “He did? Really? That’s why… he wanted me to talk to you?”

“Yeah. He thought, once I got sober, that we could help each other. You’re good for me. You know that?”

 _Melting_. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to. “I am?”

 

Margaery slipped off a raft into the purple water where she sank.

“Hey, hey. She…” Loras locked up again on the concrete pool stairs. “Maggie?!”

Domeric sprinted a few steps before diving in, then shot up with her in his arms.

“Oh…” Margaery grabbed her head. “I think I had too much wine,” she laughed.

Willas swam over. He touched Margaery’s face. “Loras, get her a towel.”

“I’m alright.”

Loras hurried to the pagoda to grab one.

He found Theon swallowed by the hitman's embrace and left faster than he’d come.  

 

Domeric held Margaery’s hand until she climbed out of the pool.

“Here.” Loras offered the towel at arm’s length.

“I’m fine, honestly. A little embarrassed but fine.” She looked up at Domeric prettied even further by the blush on her cheeks. “But you can carry me if it makes you feel better.”

Domeric took the towel from Loras and wrapped it around her then lifted her gently.

She giggled like a princess. He smiled warmly like a chivalrous knight.

“I’m ready to go,” Ramsay announced.

“I’m not.” Domeric twirled, eliciting another happy giggle from Margaery as she pressed closer.

“Well, Theon’s passed out,” Ramsay insisted.

“You both look comfortable,” Domeric said.

Ramsay smiled ironically and pulled out his phone to text.

 

“Loras, would you get my cane, please?” Willas said. He was sitting on the pool stairs.

Freedom in the water did nothing to lessen Willas' burden back on the ground. It suffocated Loras. He’d never felt like this before, which only frustrated him more. “Fine!” He was just sick of being asked to do everything, worry about everyone!

He grabbed Willas’ cane off a deck chair and marched back to thrust it at him. “Here.”

“What’s wrong, Loras?” Willas wasn’t even annoyed. He looked sympathetic.

Loras pulled the cane back before Willas could grab it and set it on a dry bit of deck. “Wait. Just hang out a bit longer.” The water was warm and soothing. The Boltons were busy talking in the pagoda where Theon and Maggie were probably drifting off.

Willas pushed off the stairs and hung in the shallow end, patiently waiting for an explanation.

Loras floated closer to him and glanced around to be sure they were alone. “That night you met Theon.” Loras swallowed. “He asked me to kiss him on the way home.”

Willas listened, understanding.

“I said ‘no’ because he was too drunk.”

“That’s good.” Willas tilted his head. _So what’s wrong?_

Loras stared at the entangled mess Ramsay and Theon had become.

“Oh,” Willas said sadly. “Loras, it’s never too late.”

Loras’ eyes narrowed as he stared. “He wants to take Theon home like that.”

“I can talk to Domeric if you’re concerned.”

“No.” Loras stood. “You're right. It’s not too late.” He walked out of the pool.

“Wait…” Willas sighed and looked at his cane, lying just out of reach.

 

“Theon.” Loras walked over and shook his arm.

First Ramsay’s stunning grey eyes pierced him, then Domeric’s ice cold blue eyes locked onto Loras. He lost his breath for a moment. His offending hand retreated from Theon’s black and gold plaid jacket.

“Baby,” Ramsay said softly. He rubbed Theon’s back and gave it a pat.

“I’m awake.” Theon rubbed his face and sat up with Ramsay’s help. “What? What did I do?”

Loras knelt and lowered his voice. “Do you want to come inside and lay down? You can spend the night here.”

Theon held the top of his head. “I don’t know.” His heavy head slowly swirled around to Ramsay, like he was asking to be rescued.

Ramsay pet his short black hair and beamed at him. He didn’t bother peering at Loras, but told Theon, “Don't worry. You’re coming home with me.”

“Hey!” Loras grabbed Theon’s arm and tugged it. “What the fuck?”

Margaery sobered a bit and sat up straight.

Domeric stood slowly, rising a good eight inches taller than Loras. His hand floated in front of Maggie, ready to protect her.

It made Loras see red. “After everything, Theon? I gave you everything! You were a homeless Kraken convict when you came to my door. Look at you now!”

“What the fuck did you call me?”

“No, just listen! I’m trying to help-”

Theon lunged and knocked him onto the deck. Pinpoint red and white stars spun wildly through the sudden blackness. Loras realized he’d been hit when Maggie screamed. He tried to curl up and cover his face when his head was smacked against the deck on the other side. He spit blood and heard muffled shouting. He gagged when Theon's heel stomped into his stomach. 

“FUCK YOU!” Domeric had Theon in a bear hug. He was still kicking and cursing. “YOU’RE DEAD! YOU’RE DEAD TO ME! DEAD! FUCK YOU!”

“THEON!” Margaery stumbled and hit her knee, falling beside her little brother. “Oh my god, your face! Loras! Oh my god.”

Domeric swung Theon around to face Ramsay. _“Take him.”_ He released Theon and ran to help Willas to his feet.

“GET OUT!” Margaery screamed. “Get him OUT of here, Domeric!”

“I will!” Domeric called.

 

Ramsay and Theon just stared at one another. It was quiet between them. The chaos was blurs of light and noise all around.

“Fuck,” Theon said at last. His face contorted, reddening and twisting. “Fuck. I fucked up. I really fucking fucked up.”

“It’s ok, puppy. Come here.”

Theon covered his face and fell into Ramsay in so many shattered pieces. “I fucked it all up again.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ramsay whispered in his ear.

 _“Get him in the car.”_ Domeric pushed Ramsay’s back. “I’ll take Loras inside,” he offered.

“He’ll be fine, Maggie. He seen worse, remember?”

“This wasn’t boxing, Willas!”

 

Ramsay took Theon into his arms and stole him away. Giggling when he reached the driveway, Ramsay sank against Dom's Tesla, laughing with tears in his eyes. Theon was out cold, a perfect doll in his giddy embrace.


	17. The Quickness of Their Scrutinizing Eyes

Theon’s seatbelt clicked by his hip. Ramsay’s fingers lingered on the metal. He leaned over and kissed Theon’s sagging jaw, his parted lips.

Dom shot into the driver’s seat and slammed his car door. Ramsay could see through the rearview mirror that the pale blue eyes had widened on his usually expressionless face. “Sit up here.”

 _No ‘please’? Must be serious._ Ramsay tried not to smile. “I’d love to, but I have to stay with Theon.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“We _are_ talking.”

Domeric turned around. His intense stare vibrated in Ramsay’s head. “Now.”

“I have to watch him.”

Domeric pinched the bridge of his nose and turned back around.

The dome light faded out when the car backed up.

“Why do you have to watch him? In case he throws up? Or stops breathing? What did you do?”

“I talked to him like I said I would.”  

“What did you do?” Dom repeated.

“It’s fine.”

“Did you slip him something?”

“No!” Ramsay slid the flask out of his jacket pocket, rolled down the window and tossed it out.

“I see.” Dom rolled the window back up from the driver’s seat. After a sullen pause, he asked,“Did you call Father?”

Ramsay giggled. “NO. Why the fuck would I do that?”

“He just _happened_ to call _exactly_ when you wanted to leave?”

Ramsay snorted.“Did he? I didn’t _call_ him, Domeric. I promise.”

“Aren’t you funny...”

Theon slid toward Ramsay when Domeric turned left, out of the Tyrell’s private cul de sac. “I remember.”

“Shh, lay down, baby.” Ramsay guided Theon’s heavy head to rest on his lap then idly pet his wavy hair.

“Do you feel sick, Dom?”

“Shut up.”

“You didn’t drink or eat anything, did you? You look like you’re about to puke your guts out all over your fancy ass car.”

Domeric pressed his thin lips together. His hands tightened into fists around the steering wheel. “Why? Did you poison me?”

Ramsay giggled.

The best thing about Domeric was how upset Father made him. Dom’s programming never adapted to Roose, who was everything a father should be on paper, yet horrible in life. One line of code told Dom to respect and obey his father, but another told him to rise above the dirty, immoral people of the world. The moment he realized what Roose was, Dom’s worldview fractured and never recovered. It was a debilitating paradox, an interesting bug in his machine heart.

Ramsay likes interesting.

“Ramsay?”

He looked down at Theon lying helplessly in his lap. “What?” Ramsay whispered.

“Don’t let me forget again. There were two things Asha said when I was drunk.”

“Ok.”

“Rodrik is dead.”

“I could have told you that,” Ramsay murmured. He tugged Theon’s hair a little to this side then that seeing how he could move Theon’s jelly head.

“And Euron isn’t.”

“Hmm.”

“I can’t go back. I have to remember. Ramsay had Theon face him directly. His large eyes were rolling under twitching lids. “Don't worry, baby. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

Dom slowed down while the community gate yawned open and spat them out. 

“Why did you text him?” Dom said again. “Do you actually want to hurt me badly enough that you would hurt yourself in the process?”

Ramsay giggled, twisting Theon’s head toward his knees.

“It doesn’t make any sense! I’m helping you.”

“I know I don’t make sense to you.” He twisted Theon’s head to face his lap and liked that better. “I’m helping you too. It’s best for us to get out ahead of Father finding out on his own and frame it-”

“You sound just like him."

Ramsay stiffened. "I do?"

Dom's eyes narrowed. "Frame it how?”

Sweat seeped into Theon’s curling hair. Ramsay fingers left more lasting trails, shaped Theon’s hair to meet his tastes. “In a positive light. He was getting angry- kept calling and texting me all kinds of horrible shit. He froze my accounts and said he would call my parole officer.”

Father had also made reference to Alyn getting ‘the care he needs’ in the prison owned in all but name.

 _“... if your pathetic fretting over that troglodyte is so distracting that you can’t attend to your phone, I can see to it that your friend receives a more effective means of intervention,”_ he had said in a low voice on the second message he left.

“So I assured him that I was only with you and not some satanic terrorist pedophile ring, or whatever the fuck he was thinking.” Ramsay slowly bit into the tip of his tongue then casually said, “I said that we were at the Tyrells and you were getting along with Margaery.”

The car slowed suddenly and drifted slightly to the left.

“Hey. Don’t get upset, Dom. Watch-”

An oncoming set of headlights flashed and a horn blared.

Ramsay leaned as far forward as he could, squishing Theon’s cool head with his stomach. He grabbed Dom’s right arm and pulled it to adjust the wheel. “Dom, listen-”

Dom was breathless. “How could you?”

“It’s not like before.”

“You didn’t feel anything when you saw Jeyne, did you? You don’t feel anything at all.”

“HE will be LOOKING for someone to use against you and you know it. You know he would have come over to your house looking when I didn’t answer and you did a shitty job lying to him. You would be surprised-”

“I defended you…”

The car was slowly rolling to a stop.

“Better Margaery than Luton. THAT’S why I fucking did it.”

Dom turned his head toward the back seat, but didn’t look Ramsay in the eye.

The car picked up speed and centered in the lane.

Ramsay leaned back.

Theon hiccuped and snorted in his lap. Poor puppy. He looked so pale.

Dom ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place.

“Take it back.”

Dom rubbed his forehead. “What?”

“What you said about me.” Ramsay played with his window. _Up, down, up, down, up, down._ “You didn’t mean it.”

Dom turned to study Ramsay a moment before staring down the road again. “About your…” his mouth twisted but couldn’t form the word. Dom squinted with queasiness. “... disposition? Why do you care?”

Ramsay kept playing with the window until Dom disabled his button and rolled it back up to stay. “Just take it back,” he muttered.

“Why?”

Ramsay bared his teeth through a widening smile. “Why not? I thought you weren’t a _liar._ ”

Domeric made a fist and slammed it down on the dashboard. “I’M a liar?!”

Ramsay laughed. This was the most fun he’d ever had with Dom. 

“You STILL haven’t admitted what you did to Jeyne!”

“It was an accident!”

“THE PART THAT WASN’T AN ACCIDENT!” Domeric held his breath then let out a growling sigh, trying to regain his composure. “And we all know, I mean, you and Father and Walda and I all KNOW your ‘drunk driving accident’ wasn’t an accident either. And neither was-”

“Don’t you fucking-”

“-Willas!”

“NO!” Ramsay punched the back of Dom’s seat then slapped the back of his head.

Dom twisted and punched Ramsay’s thigh.

“OW! I did NOT do that! That one I really fucking REALLY didn’t do! It was the horse! I KNEW it! I fucking KNEW you still blamed me for that!”

Ramsay was perched at the edge of his seat, rising as high as he could to scream at Dom when Theon hiccuped again and Ramsay’s knees and calves became hot. He sat back down and saw the likely combination of liquor and bile oozing down his legs.

Dom huffed. “It’s alright. We’re almost home.”

“Hey, Dom?”

“What?” He looked at Ramsay through the rearview mirror.

“These pants are dry clean only, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Yes, they are.”

Ramsay frowned. At least the jacket was fine.

 

Theon came to in a bathtub with high white walls. Waterfall streams were pelting his face and chest.

“Sit him up,” Dom instructed. “Don’t let him drown.”

“I’m drowning?”

“What’d you say, baby?” He heard Ramsay as the world sank away black. "He's awake!"

Theon found Ramsay's thick hand without seeing it. “Don’t let me drown.”

“Never.”

 

He was in a dark room now. Ramsay’s mouth was by his ear, shushing and kissing him, biting his earlobe. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you wait for me?” Ramsay whispered with hot breath.

“It hurts.”

“Shhh. It’s ok. Do you love me?”

“ Please…”

“I missed you so much.”

 

Theon woke up with his head throbbing in a nice room. It had a high ceiling and was colored by delicate shades of gray. A black white and red abstract painting hung across from the foot of a tall bed. A wall of windows stood unobstructed to his right and clouds of white down bed cover surrounded him.

Theon rubbed his face with both hands and rolled onto his side.

“You’re awake!” He rose a little when Ramsay hopped on the bed.

“Where are we?" He swiveled his hips. "I'm naked.”

Ramsay crawled over him and rubbed his nose along Theon’s cheekbone. “We’re staying with Dom until my parole is up.”

His thumb and knuckles screamed in pain when he tried to pull the covers to his chin. “What did I do?”

“Right.” Ramsay kissed and bit Theon’s bottom lip. He pulled at it a little then released it to let it snap back. “You have to get ready.”

“Ready?”

“Yes. It’s almost dinner time.” Ramsay’s grin was at once bitter and apologetic. “Guess who’s coming over?”


	18. Moving in Stereo

“Coming...?” Theon shut his eyes and tried to wake up for real. He had no idea who might be coming over where, or what was happening. His right hand was swollen, dry and tight. His head was thick and dull. His body jittery and hollow.

“My Father,” Ramsay said, as though Theon had guessed correctly. “You can tell him where Euron is.”

Theon eyes bulged open. “Uncle Euron?”

“No, Euron Smith.” Ramsay beamed and giggled over Theon on all fours. “Idiot.” He kissed and sucked at Theon’s neck.

Theon gasped. _Holy shit._ It had been forever since someone touched him, and no one else had ever made it feel like this.

‘ _No’_ was a wave broken on the rock of intense need. It kept rebuilding and trying to push through Theon’s mouth, to move his arms, and it kept breaking while the rock built up and hardened.

Ramsay kissed down to his nipple and grabbed his cock.

Theon’s hips jumped.

“You really did wait for me?”

Theon clenched his jaw. The abused skin on his knuckles cracked when his fingers clawed at the cotton sheets.

Ramsay was gone.

Theon filled his greedy lungs with air while Ramsay bounced off the bed and ducked below its fluffy white horizon. “Ramsay, I-”

Ramsay popped back up and pulled his shirt up over his head then tossed it aside.

Theon’s mouth dried up. He didn’t remember Ramsay looking like that. (Sometimes he did, but he tried to fool himself. Just the chest, just the hand, just the eyes, just the cock - but he could put another face on it at the last second and then it didn’t count.)

“It’s true. It’s real now.” Ramsay had a ball of flat black string in one fist. His pale blue eyes locked on to Theon’s, burning and mesmerizing. He climbed back on the bed.

Theon inched back on his elbows. “I… I…”

“I missed you too.” Ramsay kissed his panting mouth and grabbed his thin wrist.

 

Domeric’s shoulders tensed when the doorbell rang.

Luton peered at the noise and sipped his tea. “I’m not leaving.”

Domeric pressed his lips together to keep his upper lip from curling into something cruel. He ran his tongue across his front teeth and released the restored wood bar top he’d been gripping. “It’s not a good time,” he repeated.

Luton’s statuesque, creamy brown face rested in his pale palm. His almond-shaped chocolate drop eyes chided Domeric with more patience than he could fucking stand right now.

He pushed away from the breakfast bar and marched to the front door where he lost courage and stopped.

Domeric cleared his throat, looked through the peephole and sighed. “Ramsay,” he shouted up the stairwell.

No response.

_Fine. Perfect._

Domeric opened the door. “Hello, Walda.” He peered around her before stepping out. “What a nice surprise.”

“I made soup and quiche.” She had even picked a rustic basket with a subdued desert rose and sage colored ribbon. The things she could make from the material world astounded Domeric. Walda glanced up at the second story window. “It’s great for hangovers.”

“Mmm, I bet.”

Domeric was certain only the Boltons could see the depth behind Walda’s sunny smiles. He appreciated her kindness and prudence but they both knew she was, to some extent, Father’s eyes and ears; a fact he never forgot.  

“Thank you.” It occurred to Domeric that he had shut the door behind him after stepping out onto his landing. “Please come in. I’m sure you had a long drive.” He took the basket and held the door for her.

 

“Walda!” Luton took her hands and kissed her full blushing cheek. “I’ll take your coat.”

Domeric shot Luton a dark look because  _they had talked about this._ He still acted like this was his house as well, even in front of _her_. “Is Father coming over?” he asked with a tight smile.

Walda slipped out of her faux fur duster with a graceful turn. “Yes. It won't be long.”

Luton grinned at her, as if he didn’t hear that, or was oblivious to its significance. “I absolutely adore that dress on you.”

She did look lovely, in Domeric’s assessment.

Walda blushed a brighter shade of pink and giggled. “I would like it better if I lost seventy-”

“Hush! You look darling!” Luton took her arm. He leaned in and lowered his voice as he walked her down the hallway to the living room, but Ramsay and Domeric had both inherited their father’s exceptional hearing. _“You know your husband loves it.”_

Walda giggled.

Domeric turned away and gagged. “RAMSAY!”

 

He pounded upstairs and shoved through the guest room door. Oh, there’s Ramsay’s snow white ass and bouncing ball sack.

Domeric pinched the bridge of his nose and collected himself while Ramsay’s boy cried out and scrambled to hide under the covers Luton never used anyway. _“_ What did I tell you?”

Ramsay panted and sat up. “What?”

 _“Walda is here._ I told you to get him ready,” he snapped.

Ramsay rolled his eyes as if _he_ was the one being put out by _Domeric’s_ selfish impulses. “Fine. Twenty minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen.”

_“Ten.”_

 

The door clapped shut. Ramsay lifted the covers to find Theon curled up, hiding like a hunted rabbit. “I’ll get ready,” he whispered.

Ramsay grabbed a fistful of hair when Theon sat up and pulled him closer. “I’m done fucking you when **_I_ ** say so.”

Theon sank under Ramsay’s and swallowed. A tear welled up in the corner of one sea green eye.

Ramsay kissed the flickering lid. “Don’t worry.” It was worth the interruption to have Theon tremble like this, to push up into his soft warmth again. “You’re not in trouble.”

Theon whined and shuttered.

Ramsay took his bound wrists in one hand and his delicate neck in the other.

 

Now the thumping was _all_ Domeric could hear.

Luton turned the television on. “What’s that show we liked, Walda?”

Walda was blushing, trying not to giggle.

Gods, they _both_ were.

He could feel Walda studying him. The mood changed in the room. He knew he’d ruined their fun with his dark expression. “I haven’t offer you a drink,” Domeric said. "Would you like some wine? Water? Tea?"

“I’m fine, thank you.” Walda smiled graciously. She turned to Luton and took his large hand in hers. “Roose and Ramsay have some… _difficult_ things to say to one another. You know how it is with them. Could you possibly…”

“Yes. Of course.” Luton kissed her cheek again. “I have a date tonight anyway.” He winked at Walda who giggled back.

Domeric grabbed the remote and scrolled through Netflix. _Fine. Walk yourself to the door._ "Have a good time."

 

Once Luton was gone, Domeric sighed. “Thank you,” he told Walda.

“I understand.”

“I’m sure you do.” Domeric sank into the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Is he angry with me?” he said in a quiet voice.

Walda smiled nervously and fussed with a lace detail on her Chanel-pink dress.

“Shit.”

The ceiling stopped pounding above them then creaked under quick footsteps.

Walda put her hand on Domeric’s knee. “I’ll stay and smooth it over.”

He smiled sadly. “You’re very kind. Please know that I appreciate it.”

Walda patted his knee.

Water starting running upstairs.

Domeric sprang up. _I said **ten** minutes! _ “I had better check on my brother.”

 

He stopped before going upstairs and called down the hall to her, “Ramsay has a little friend with him.”

“Oh…” Walda smiled politely and nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Domeric said with his usual reassuring charm. “He’s not what you’re expecting.”

 

Theon was looking for his boxers when Ramsay came out of the bathroom rubbing a wet hand against the jeans he’d put on. “Let’s go. Water’s ready.”

Theon held out his bound wrists. “These are my shoelaces.”

Ramsay pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket and spun it open as he approached Theon. The blade reflected the blue-grey sky in a flash then ruby red handle pieces clicked together.

Theon backed up into the wall.

Ramsay took his wrist and sliced through the web around his wrists.

“Those were my shoelaces!” They fell away leaving a negative image of white and red on his skin.

Ramsay took his wrist and pulled Theon along into the elegant but rather bare jack-and-jill bathroom. Water was falling behind a thick sheet of glass from a metal square in the ceiling of a slate shower the size of a walk-in closet.

Ramsay led Theon into the open dry part. “Just get the come off you. He’ll be back any minute.”

Theon’s hands hung around his crotch. He hooked his index fingers together. “You, um, don’t have to wait for me.”

Ramsay tilted his head then pointed the knife at Theon’s chest. “Hey. I saw what you did to my artwork.”

“Your…?” Theon took a step back toward the stream of hot water. He pulled his right forearm to his stomach and covered it with the other.

“That’s right.” Ramsay came closer.

Theon stepped back into the water.

“I saw last night when you were puking in Dom’s bathtub. You almost choked on your vomit. I guess you had to get rid of that thing, but you should have waited for,” Ramsay pointed the knife at his own white chest, **“me.”** He shook his head slowly, “I don’t like what you did.”

 

The door behind Ramsay jiggled then rang out with quick knocks. “Ramsay!”

“Hold ON!” Ramsay yelled. “What did you take last night?”

“Take?” Theon blinked against the falling water. His knuckles burned then throbbed when he wiped his face. “I had some scotch, I think, that Loras gave me.” His voice wobbled along with his knees.

“I know what you drank.” Ramsay pointed the knife back at him and waved thoughtfully. “But nothing in that flask was strong enough to make you as sick as you were. Look at yourself. You’re still strung out and shaking. So what did you _take_?”

“Nothing!”

Ramsay’s face darkened. His eyes burned brighter. “You aren’t… lying, are you?”

“No!” Theon gulped and clutched his chest. “I just took my medicine-”

“WHAT medicine?”

“For… anxiety.” Theon’s hot stomach twisted and cramped. His mouth filled with bitter saliva. “Oh!”

Ramsay’s face relaxed and brightened. “I see. It's alright." He gestured to himself with the knife. "I'm here now."

Domeric came in through the door behind Theon. “RAMSAY!”

Theon dropped to his knees and started vomiting spit and bile into the drain.

“Did you hear that, Dom?” Ramsay said, standing triumphantly with a knife in his hand. “It was his crazy pills, NOT me.”

Dom’s cold blue eyes slid over to Theon heaving on the tile, then back to Ramsay. He looked like he may get sick as well. “Father is here.”


	19. A Crack in Everything

Domeric came to a halt. He placed both feet on the fifth stair from the bottom.

Roose stood waiting on the landing in a maroon pullover and black dress slacks.

 _Walda must have let him in._ Domeric squeezed the railing. “Hello.” He continued on and turned down the hall until a stone grip caught his arm. “Excuse me, I’m in the middle of making dinner.”

They both heard Walda shut the refrigerator door and open the pantry.

“You’ll go and sit down.”

Domeric jerked his shoulder but Roose tightened his grip and pinned Domeric’s arm to the stairwell.

“Domeric.” Roose waited until his son looked him in his pale grey eyes. “Now.”

Domeric smiled politely. “Tea?”

Merry Roose did not smile back. “On the couch. Not in the kitchen where you can pretend to be distracted or appeal to my wife to interfere.”

Roose let Domeric break away this time and followed closely.

 

Thankfully, Domeric found the port he’d been nursing on his repurposed coffee table. “Are you sure you aren’t thirsty?” He sat on the couch but Roose remained standing in front of him.

“You disobeyed me.”

Domeric looked down and took a warm sweet drink.

“Have you lost all sense? How can you be so unforgivably stupid? Look at me when I’m talking to you. Do you think you can control him?”

“No.”

“No...? So you haven’t had suffered a major concussion and lost the ability to assess reality completely. You _don’t_ think you can control him? Then why is he here?”

Domeric set his drink down and pointed to the kitchen. “She has no right to take over my cooking. This is my home.”

“Your safety is my prerogative, wherever you are. Ramsay is extremely dangerous. How many times have I told you; never meet him alone. Do you think he’s magically changed? Did prison fix him, Domeric? Is that what prison does for people? For psychopaths?”

“He is not a psychopath.”

Roose scoffed. He sat down on the coffee table and leaned forward.

Domeric crossed his legs so their knees didn’t touch and adjusted himself so he could sit back. “You didn’t see what I did. If you had visited when his mother was dying…”

“You depend on your intuition because it serves you well, but you have a blind spot in the shape of Ramsay. Since you are incapable of seeing the facts so clearly laid out before you, I forbid you from seeing him without me. Then you snuck behind my back and brought him into your home anyhow.  Why did you disobey me? Have you told yourself that you know Ramsay better than I do when I raised him and you’ve only met him a handful of times?”

“That’s not entirely accurate.”

“Yes. It is. Your logic fails you yet again. Who has spent more time with him?”

“You have.”

“Are you so far superior to me that you’ve learned more in thirty-four years than I have in fifty-seven?”

“No.”

“No…?”

Domeric reached for his glass but Roose moved it away.

“Why would you keep a dangerous boy you can’t control in your home? Especially when the one person who values your safety more than you do and who raised that boy has ordered you not to?”

“I’d rather he work with me than against me.”

“So you _do_ think you can control him.”

“No, but I can work with-”

“No, what?”

Domeric pressed his lips together.

“Hello, Father!” Ramsay called, jogging downstairs. He jumped, skipping the last two steps and walked in. Roose’s stare slowed his pace, though he kept smirking.

After a slow blink, Roose redirected his cold fury at Domeric. “Why, exactly, do you think you’re you better suited to ‘work with’ Ramsay than I am?”

Ramsay climbed over the back of the couch and sat on the arm. “Father,-”

Roose held up a finger and waited for Domeric to respond.

“It’s not a matter of…” Domeric paled.

“Don’t look at Ramsay. Look at me.”

“-meet Theon.”

Roose sat up straight and found the young Greyjoy hanging around the couch with the nervous submission of a kicked dog. Roose stood and walked around the couch to study Theon, who backed away. “Hmm.”

Domeric took his drink and escaped to the kitchen.

Ramsay picked up the remote and started looking for something entertaining. “He said Euron isn’t dead.”

“Where is he?”

“Pyke,” Ramsay answered. “His sister told him.”

Theon rubbed his temple, trying to remember what Asha told him while shielding himself from Roose Bolton’s unyielding examination.

“Is that blood on your sleeve?”

Theon covered the specs of Loras Roose seemed to have found without looking. “Oh…” His hands were still a swollen, cracking mess.

“You’ve worked for some interesting people,” Roose said in a deep, quiet voice which unnerved Theon.

Walda came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Supper is ready.”

A cork popped behind her.

 

Domeric poured himself another glass then took Theon’s and filled it as well.

“Thanks,” Theon said softly.

Ramsay scanned the table with twinkling eyes. “Well, this. Is. Lovely.” He shoved more seared Ahi tuna in his mouth. “Feels lih ‘ishmas!”

Walda smiled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Roose said. “It’s disgusting.”

Domeric drank more wine.

“So,” Walda began carefully, “you all were at the Tyrell’s last night? That sounds exciting. How did you meet?”

“Ha!” Ramsay barked.

“Willas and I used to play Polo together at the Redfort Equestrian Center,” Domeric said as though it were just he and Walda.

“Now he’s banging Margaery,” Ramsay said, giggling.

“ _Ramsay,_ ” Roose warned.

Domeric poured more wine into his glass.

“You’re drinking too much.”

“Am I?” A bitter smile briefly passed Domeric’s lips.

“I’ll keep an eye on that,” Ramsay volunteered. “Make sure it's not becoming a _habit_.”

“Oh?” Roose swirled his drink while his wife searched the room for something pleasant to comment on. “Would you like that, Domeric? Ramsay constantly watching you for me?”

Domeric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, it certainly does feel like Christmas. Shame we don’t do this more often.”

Roose faked a small smile. “Don’t worry. Now that both of my sons are here, I promise to  visit **far** more often.” He touched Walda’s hand. “We’ll have to get an apartment nearby.”

Domeric’s hand dropped away from his face and hit the table with a thud that made forks shake on plates.

Theon leaned closer to Ramsay and whispered, “Do you know where my phone is?”

The room went silent.

Theon’s eyes were drawn into looking around the table. Everyone was staring at him with a mix of pity and disappointment, as though he’d just asked if Santa Claus was real.

Except for Ramsay, who stabbed his fish. _“No.”_

“Theon,” Domeric said pleasantly, “I’m afraid I didn’t introduce you to Walda.”

“Hello,” she said.

Theon nodded and smiled.

“I love your jacket.”

“Really? Thanks! Yeah, it’s kind of a crazy combination with the blue but I-”

“Why did you disobey me?” Roose interrupted.

“Honestly?” Domeric said in the same cold tone. “Can’t you respect your wife enough to let her make polite conversation?”

“Can’t you respect me enough to answer a simple question? You don’t owe me even that? No. I guess you think you don’t owe me anything at all. Why? I fed and clothed you. I raised you alone for most of your life. I bought you pretty horses and violins. I took you to practices and watched interminable recitals. You have always been remarkably stubborn but you have never been ungrateful.” Roose hardened into a monument of accusation.

The tension hummed in Domeric’s ears. His face grew hot and the wine no longer steadied his hands.

Walda patted her lips with a napkin and laid it on her plate. “Well… I, uh, I think I’m done.”

Roose touched his wife’s soft wrist gently, though he didn’t relent in staring down Domeric. “Go show Theon the balcony, while I talk to my sons.”

“Yes, dear,” she said, standing abruptly. “Would you come with me, Theon?”

Theon’s head snapped to read Ramsay’s reaction.

Ramsay caught it from the corner of his eye. It made his grim expression lighten. He smirked and shoved Theon, who almost fell off his chair, not expecting the hit. “Go on.”

 

Domeric waited until the two left before answering. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know you won’t agree with my reasoning, but I think I’m doing the right thing.”

Ramsay leaned forward, crunching on a flaky bit of pita bread. “You wouldn’t understand ‘the right thing’, Father.”

“If you can’t contain your glee, you can go wait in the car.”

“Your car? Why do you want me to leave with you? This is everything you ever wanted, he and I together, under your thumb.” Ramsay put both elbows on the table and slid even closer to his father. “Just because Domeric falls apart when you yell at him doesn’t mean he’s more loyal than I am.”

Ramsay emptied the bottle filling their three remaining glasses then sat back comfortably. “So, did we all get to cry about whose asshole was chaffed more? Are we ready to negotiate? Domeric wants his friends close and his half-brother closer. You want me to keep working for you. I just want to keep Theon. What’s the problem?”

Domeric’s face contorted, becoming more open and hollow.  His hand drifted a moment toward Ramsay. Then his fingertips grounded themselves on the smooth but uneven table. “I don’t want you to work for him,” he whispered.

“Why?” Roose demanded.

Domeric withdrew his hand. He traced the rising, jutting, dropping wood grain with one finger. “You know why.”

 

Theon took a drag and stuffed his lighter back into the inside pocket of his plaid jacket. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

Walda shook her head with a tinkling laugh. “Oh, never. Roose would hate it.”

The outline of downtown Eyrie sat high on the horizon.

“Do you always have to think about what he’ll feel before you do something?”

Walda’s head tilted in bittersweet resignation. “Yes. I suppose that’s how it is with them, isn’t it?”

Theon’s cigarette escaped his fingers. He decided to kick it off with his barefoot instead of kneeling to get it back. “I don’t know! I don’t want to know either. I just had a bad night. Hey, could I borrow your phone?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks!” Theon called himself and headed back but Walda stopped him before he opened the door.

“Wait! Don’t go in there!”

“What?” Theon waited, yet kept his bruised hand on the doorknob. “I need to find my phone.”

“He can be dangerous when Roose pushes and pushes.” She fussed with some lace on her belly. “And he **will**. He’s unhappy with what you all have done.”

“Woah.”

Walda rubbed a finger underneath one eyelid and sniffed. “I hate seeing Roose like this.” Her cheery disposition was replaced by a pink nose and far away stare.

“Ooookay, ha. I’m sorry. I know you have a whole _thing_ going on here but, I have to tell you, _I_ don’t. Ok? This shit that they’re doing is not my shit. I’m only here because of a bad night. I’m certainly not fucking staying.”

Walda's face bore that unmistakable expression. The one he saw everywhere in the chow hall when he first followed Ramsay to breakfast. The one Satin gave him as he opened a tube of lipstick.

“Stop it. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t fucking feel sorry for me, lady. I feel sorry for _you_. Don’t you know who I am?”

Walda watched the pale yellow sun melt into Eyrie’s skyline. The city shimmered far out of reach.

“Let me tell you something.” Theon pushed away from the door and started walking around the balcony, gesturing with nervous hollow energy. “When I get somewhere, I mean _really_ get somewhere, I’ll find and save you. THEN who will pity who, huh?!”

Walda’s brow furrowed. “Save me?”

“Yes.”

A tiny smile curled Walda’s lips. “Like a princess?”

Theon touched his chest. “Like a _prince_ , I was thinking. But yeah, sure.”

Walda giggled.

It made Theon smile. “It’s a revenge rescue. I obviously have to make a fucking point to you.”

Walda laughed but held her face with both hands. “You think Roose is something I need to be rescued from?”

“No shit! Did you _see_ that guy?”

“I’ve done more than that.”

“By the-” Theon threw his hands up. He lowered his voice. “How do you… _do that_?”

Walda’s shoulders shook when she laughed.

Theon pulled out and lit another smoke. “You have to get drunk, right?”

“No.”

“Pills?”

“No!” Walda sat in one of the green metal chairs facing the sunset. She was giggling and wiping tears away. “Stop! He’s very handsome!”

Theon shrugged a shoulder, squinting. “Yeeeah, but… he’s like… he has a cat right?”

Walda leaned over to peer inside. “Stop it!” She whispered, blushing and trying to hide her laughter as though the teacher may notice them at the back of the classroom any second.

“And when he calls the U.N.  to make his demands, he strokes the cat. ‘One trillion dollars by midnight.’”

“Theon!”

“Or I release the flying piranhas. Make your choice, gentlemen.” Theon took another drag and enjoyed the change he’d made in her. Then the memory of Tarley laughing and encouraging him washed over Theon. His heart sank.

 

“Why don’t you trust me with him?” Domeric burst when he couldn’t take any more of Roose’s needling.

“Don’t be an idiot. I don’t trust _him_ with you. You may be stronger and more intelligent-”

Ramsay’s eyes narrowed.

“- but Ramsay will easily outmaneuver you.”

“To do WHAT?” Domeric jumped up and slammed both palms on the table. “What are you so afraid will happen?! He won’t terrorize people for you any longer?”

“That he’ll kill you, Domeric,” Roose said simply. “Ramsay is a killer.”

Heartbeat by heartbeat, Domeric’s slowly looked away from his father and found Ramsay slouching comfortably in his chair, using a fingernail to pick at food lodged between two molars.

Switching from audience to participant, Ramsay sat up and tried to look more somber. “Of course I would never kill you. Come on.”

After a prolonged nasal sigh, Roose glanced up at Domeric. “Sit down. I’m not done-”

Domeric turned on his heel and fled.

 

He shut the powder room door and sank back into the cold, rough wall. His panting breaths resounded in his ears. The sudden vice around his skull and neck made his drooping head pound.

Domeric tried to stand up straighter and take deeper slower breaths.

He had suspected it for years, known it deep in a muffled corner of his mind. Still, hearing that Ramsay had really… and he didn’t deny it. _It’s true._

 

He was going to splash his hot face when the door opened and closed behind him. Domeric grabbed the sink with both hands. “Get out. Get out of my house.”

Roose came up behind him and grabbed a fistful of black hair. “Look. In the mirror.”

Domeric was stunned into complying.

“Look at yourself then look at me. Who am I? Who am I to you?”

They did look so much alike. It made Domeric’s stomach turn.

He spun and shoved his father against the wall. “Fine. You fucked my mother.” Domeric’s face went wild. _“What else did you do to her?”_

“What?” If Roose felt something other than interest, his expression didn’t betray it.

The bathroom door swung open. “Hey.” Ramsay looked at the two of them standing nose to nose with an ironic smile. “Is this where the party is going? Here.” He offered Domeric his phone. Luton’s picture illuminated the sleek black screen. “He keeps calling.”

Ramsay, then Roose, left him holding the phone, alone in the small bathroom.

 


	20. Halo in Reverse

Luton never calls. He’s the kind of person who texts you to ask what you want as you’re leaving a voicemail. But now he was calling Domeric for the third time in a row.

“Where are you?” Domeric headed for his front door, touching the key fob in his pocket to reassure himself it was there. “Are you alright?”

“It’s so… it’s terrible! Everything is-”

“Are _you_ ok?”

“Yes. I- I’m fine. Dom, someone broke into my apartment and tore it apart. They destroyed everything! My _notebooks!_ I don’t know what they were looking for!”

Domeric swallowed painfully. “I’ll stay on the phone with you until I get there, ok?”

“No. I’m leaving now.”

“Hold on for a few more minutes.”

“I’m NOT staying here!”

“Didn’t you call the police?” Domeric wasn’t sure he had closed the front door. He didn’t even remember getting in his car but now Luton was talking to him through its speakers. His name was glowing on the dashboard screen beside a blank face; hollow, interchangeable with anyone else.

“What are the _police_ going to do, Domeric? File another complaint against the Co-Op the Housing Authority? They’ll probably find my floormates drugs or-”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“It’s subsidized housing for hippies and potheads, not a private-”

“Luton, I’m sorry.” Domeric had to cut him off. Luton had every right to lecture him on the ignorance his privileged life had cost him again, but Domeric was at his limit already and strongly preferred to work toward a solution instead. “I’ll be there soon. It will be alright.”

“I want to come home with you.”

Domeric pinched the bridge of his nose and silently filled his lungs. “Ok. Whatever you need.”

  


“Well?!” Walda burst after a few drags passed in silence.

Theon rubbed his temple with the side of his thumb before sucking the last bit of stale, unsatisfying smoke and tossing his cigarette into the rock bed below. “What?”

“What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“Be fair! How…do you?” She blushed and smiled. _“With Ramsay?”_

Theon hopped up and sat on the narrow railing.

Walda’s eyes widened. “Please be careful.”

Theon lifted his hands a few inches from the railing and leaned back. “Whoah.”

Walda wasn’t laughing. “Stop that! You’re hungover and banged up. You’re making me very nervous.”

“Uh oh!” Theon threw his hands out like he was going to fall.

“STOP!”

  


Roose had shut the front door after watching Domeric speed away. He’d tried to keep Domeric from drinking too much, knowing he would drive too fast and too upset to rescue that worthless leech.

People like Luton tell themselves their vapid uselessness is actually the refined essence of an artistic soul, whose hands are far too delicate to ever get dirty. Their poverty is _bohemian_ , ineptitude, their _struggle._ It only works while they’re young and pretty. As beauty wears off and success never comes, they inevitably grow up, self-destruct, or sink their tenterhooks into someone like Domeric and drag them down into base misery. Fortuitously, Roose foresaw a break in Domeric’s unhealthy relationship of his own making. Maybe he would even turn to Roose afterward, as feeling guilty made him especially vulnerable.

Domeric never listens to his father when it comes to personal matters. He has to learn such things the hard way. He was always a quick, competent, and obedient boy; a wonderful son. His downfall is other people. The less he sees Roose as a person, the less leverage Roose has over him, so it wouldn’t do to simply eliminate the problem of Luton.  Domeric holds personal grudges like a woman. Though he wasn’t killed or even dismembered, Domeric _still_ had a thorn in his side about eldest Tyrell boy’s riding ‘accident.’

In fact, Domeric had surprised Roose by seemingly moving past his grievances with Ramsay to strike up a strategic alliance against their father. Impressive. And criminally stupid. The turn of events had shown that Roose if died tonight, Domeric would soon after, and that was a concern.

Still, Ramsay’s ever-furiously-wounded ego had been soothed. He believed he’d rubbed in Roose’s face in what, in reality, he’d always known. Domeric was the better son because he was _weaker_.

People like Roose and Ramsay need leeches to slow them, make them sacrifice a little for another, make them _just_ weak enough to sense things with the necessary acuity. Domeric doesn’t need a leech to drain him, he needs a powerful steed to ride and to carry him.

Roose pressed his thin lips together. _First, he has to make it back here._

 

Roose found his bastard at the dinner table eating Theon’s leftovers. “Did he tell you where Euron is?”

Ramsay shrugged. “I’ll find out. So? What do your lawyers say?”

Roose pushed Domeric’s chair in and gazed outside, thinking. “Theon was drinking with his sister when she caught him up on their family business?”

Ramsay nodded and helped himself to Dom’s wine glass.

“Get him drunk again then ask. Let him brag since he’s so desperate to show off.”

Ramsay stood to see what his father was staring at.

  


“Walda, watch this!” Theon grabbed the railing from underneath with both hands, pretending they weren’t thick and sore. He leaned back further. His bare feet rose, white against the darkening sky.

“Theon!” Walda stood slowly.

“Huh?” Theon twisted and bobbed to see her then flashed a grin.

“Please stop that. It isn’t funny.”

Theon looked over his shoulder, considering the ground.

“He does have a cat.”

Theon looked, for an instant, like a child on a swing set, curling his legs in and gliding forth with a grin. “WHAT?! No, he doesn’t, you fucking liar!”

“Get down first.”

“No.” Theon raised both feet and wiggled his toes. “I can’t find my shoes.”

“If you don’t sit down I can’t tell you about the cats. I’m too worried to concentrate.”

“Cats- plural?” Theon hopped down and walked over to her.

“He named them both.”

“Shut up! What are the names?”

Walda laughed. “I shouldn’t tell you. You’re being awful.”

“Tell me.” He took both her hands and held them. _“Please?”_ He made his already large green eyes pitiful.

He obviously thought he was much hotter than he was, but it was kind of sweet. Walda rolled her eyes. “Guess.”

Theon’s face lit up. “Right, ok. I can do this.”

Walda giggled.

“Vladimir?”

“What?” Walda burst out then shook her head laughing. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Putin, Lenin, the, um... vampire? Right? It was a good guess. He’s a fan.” He pulled her soft hands to his chest. “Give me a clue.”

“Umm…”

“Snuffles?”

“No!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Give me a clue!”

“Ok. Be quiet so I can think. It’s a-”

“Yes?”

“Fa-”

“Fascist?”

“Famous,” Walda said more loudly.

“Serial Killer?”

“Chess-”

The air cracked and shook them both when the sliding door slammed open.

Theon gave Walda’s hands a small squeeze then let go of them. He stepped back away from the trespass and hit hard flesh.

Ramsay’s arm snaked around Theon’s neck. “Don’t stop talking because of me. You know what that makes people think, right?”

Walda may have seen Theon wither, or maybe it was too dark. She squeezed her shoulders and beamed at Ramsay while his thick hand took hold of Theon’s hip. “He _was_ telling me about you- the two of you. Well, he was starting to.”

“About us?”

Theon wanted to call Walda a liar but bit his tongue.

“I really like him. You should be nice to this one.”

Ramsay snorted. “I’m always nice to everyone. We need to leave before Dom gets back.” Ramsay tilted Theon’s hip and thrust against his ass.

Walda looked around uncomfortably as she made her way past.

“Shut the door, Mother,” he called.

Theon wrinkled his nose. The door shut behind them.

“She’s, like, our age.”

“Were you having fun?” Ramsay whispered in his ear.

“Ramsay, where is my phone?”

“Father Tarley said you always avoid questions that make you uncomfortable.” He had written _uses humor and personal attacks as defense mechanisms_ in one of his many private notes. How happy Tarley would have been knowing that he’d helped Ramsay in spite of his treacherous incompetence.

Theon swallowed and sagged in Ramsay’s embrace.

“I don’t know where your fucking shoes are. You were shitfaced and the Tyrell’s were calling the cops, so we were in a bit of a fucking hurry, sweetie.” Ramsay kissed around Theon’s ear then slowly bit into the cartilage.

Theon twitched, nauseated. “Fuck. Fuck! What am I gonna to do?”

“I’ll get you a new phone, baby,” Ramsay crooned into Theon’s neck.

“Mmm, Ramsay…” Theon touched Ramsay’s forearm. “Listen, I have to go.”

Theon tried to pry Ramsay’s arm off his neck but Ramsay spun him around and shoved him. “You get real fucking stupid when I’m not around. Don’t you?”

“What?”

Ramsay crowded Theon into a corner of brick and railing. “Like, flirty and self-destructive.”

Theon folded and dropped when Ramsay punched his stomach. He groaned and hesitantly pulled himself up.

“Did you think that shit was funny?” Ramsay asked pointing to the railing behind him with his thumb. He grabbed Theon’s swan neck and pushed him so he bent, leaning backward over the balcony.

Theon held onto Ramsay’s arms with both hands. “Stop.”

“You want to jump?”

“No.”

“What do you think you would break?”

Theon rasped, tapping Ramsay’s arm. His eyes bulged.

“Your shoulder? Wrist? Ankle maybe? If you fall backward, like this, it might be your skull,” Ramsay mused. “That could be a problem.”

Theon reached for Ramsay’s face. He barely scratched Ramsay’s chin before Ramsay swung him back around and released his throat.

Theon collapsed on the cold concrete, coughing and blinking his watery eyes.

“I was just kidding! Don’t be such a little bitch about it.” Ramsay nudged Theon’s ass with his boot. “Get up. We need to go **now**.”

 

The three of them were crowded at the front entrance. Luton had yet to set foot on the staircase. Below his royal blue silk button up, below his tasteful tungsten watch, Domeric’s fist trembled. “You shouldn’t be here. Luton is very upset.”

Roose looked past him. “Luton, has Domeric ever played for you?”

 _“_ No,” Domeric said firmly.

Roose laid a hand on Domeric’s shoulder. “I’ll respect your wishes.” His eyes narrowed. “You understand what respect means to me, don’t you?”

Domeric looked down and gave a nod.

“I’m sorry you’re upset, Luton. At least you don’t appear to be harmed.” Roose’s hand moved to Domeric’s back and gave him a gentle push. “Why don’t you take him upstairs? I’ll lock the door when we leave.”

Domeric closed his eyes. _“Great.”_

“I thought you said _no one_ had a key to your place,” Luton pouted.

“I thought so too!” Domeric said too loudly through a biting smile. “GO upstairs.”

Luton stepped away from Domeric and looked at him as though he was a stranger. He left them without saying anything.

“If you worked for me, you could afford to put your friend up somewhere safer.”

“I have a job.”

“You’ve made a good reputation as a” the corners of Roose’s mouth turned down, “public defender. I’m very proud.”

Domeric looked up.

“But you’re working far too hard for nothing. It’s time to move on. You’d make enough money to start a charitable firm. Isn’t that worth more to you than irritating me?”

“My _career_ is not about irritating you.” Domeric heard the sliding door open and rushed past his father.

 

“What did you get?”

Ramsay froze upon hearing Don’t voice. He stopped Theon from coming inside and slid the door until it was almost shut. “Get?”

“From Roose. What did you get? Tell me. I want to know.”

“From- you fucking idiot! That’s what he _wants_ you to think! You always blame me for everything!”

Domeric quietly closed the space between them. “Liar.”

Ramsay’s face contorted, becoming wild. “Call me a liar again.”

Domeric loomed over Ramsay. “What did he give you in return for having your trash friends raid Luton’s apartment, you fucking _liar.”_ He jammed two fingers into Ramsay’s throat, striking like a viper.

Ramsay stumbled back then fell. He rolled back and forth kicking out and trying to get on his feet. Before he got off his knees, Domeric grabbed his hair and slapped him down. He kicked Ramsay’s ribs and stomach when Theon ran in and tackled him.

Ramsay wheezed and growled his way back up as Domeric lifted Theon and threw him on the couch.

“Domeric,” Roose snapped.

Domeric fixed his hair and smoothed his shirt. “He started it,” he mumbled.

“YOU DID!”

Domeric turned around, prepared to calmly defend himself, and froze.

Luton stood behind Roose, pale and wide-eyed.

“Uh,” Domeric tried to think of something to say.

Luton turned and ran down the hallway.

Domeric’s shoulders tensed when the door slammed. He sighed.

“Theon, help Ramsay to my car,” Roose said. “Walda will be waiting for us.”

Ramsay stomped over to the couch and yanked Theon off by his wrist. “Come on.”

“It’s all for the best,” Roose tried to consol Domeric. “The Tyrell girl is pretty." Roose turned to leave. "Thank you for dinner.”

“Father…”

Roose waited.

“What happened… with…”

“Your mother had stomach cancer,” Roose replied gently. “She was a very good wife. Gentle and clever.”

Domeric covered his eyes with one hand. “Did you love her?”

Roose walked away. “Come see me when you’re ready. We’ll talk then.”


	21. Lock the Target

Barefoot and phoneless, Theon sat in the back of Roose Bolton’s car asking his translucent reflection what in the fucking fuck had happened?!

He chewed at a scab on his knuckle.

Father Tarley’s face bothered him again. Who smiles like that, anyway? Dumbasses. That’s who.

Theon tasted blood.

Domeric was right, Ramsay is a liar. If he only had his phone back, he could call, hear his voice and hang up. Maybe he’d even say something...

“Hey!” Ramsay twisted around the passenger seat to smack Theon’s face. “What- are you eating your fucking finger?”

Theon put his hands in his lap and inched closer to the window. “No.” He swallowed a sliver of dry skin that was hanging on the back of his tongue.

“Don’t fucking self-cannibalize in my father’s Honda, asshole.”

Theon wiped his mouth to hide his laugh.

Ramsay smirked back at him. “Idiot.”

Theon saw the top of Roose’s head turn toward Ramsay, pause, then go back to facing the dark highway.

 

When the hum of the road started to turn into screaming, Theon couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “So… where are we-”

“Theon,” Roose said, stepping on the question as if it were a roach, “Where is your uncle Euron?”

Ramsay snapped back and pointed at Theon’s face. “Shut up!” He slammed a hand down on the black leather center console. “YOU answer MY question first. _What_ did your lawyers say?”

“They feel there is more than enough evidence to show he’s illiterate.”

Ramsay rolled his lips together. “So, the confession…”

“Malpractice. How would you feel if Petyr Baelish has his career ruined because of this?” He looked at Ramsay.

Ramsay giggled.

Theon shuddered.

“But what about the prison guard he killed?”

“Trant?” Roose’s rich, soft voice rolled out slightly higher and more expressive than his usual soulless-inquisitor-reading-out-the-condemned’s-charges way of speaking. “Did you know he was mistreating inmates?”

“No!” Ramsay replied in the same tone of voice. “I don’t believe you!”

“Inmates were happy to come forward, of course. Some important, responsible person was fired. Now the firm has an excellent case for self-defense. Upon reviewing his budget, Qyburn is likely to find that the prison can’t afford a good lawyer at this time. I’m sure we can reach an agreement to make the whole unpleasant mess disappear.”

Ramsay slouched happily in his seat and rested his clasped hands on top of his head. “Fuck. Isn’t that what Dom does? Defend poor people against, you know, people like you?”

“I don’t own the prison, nor am I it’s  head of human resources.”

“You just own all the stock?” Ramsay giggled.

“A subsidiary of the corporation I work for does hold the majority of shares if I remember correctly.”

“That you _work for?_ As the Chief Executive Officer?”

“Yes, Ramsay. It’s a very difficult job. You should know that.”

“Ah, that’s completely different. I’m sorry!” Ramsay laughed.

“I don’t know where Euron is,” Theon confessed.

“Did I un-shut you up?”

“Sorry,” Theon muttered.

“Dad, Damon wants the money tonight.”

Roose sighed. “Could you possibly bother yourself to be a shade more opaque? Do you miss prison so badly already?”

Theon’s brow furrowed. “His money?”

“Oh, please. It’s just the three of us.”

“Always assume you’re being recorded.” Roose’s pale eyes darted up to the rearview mirror, pinning Theon. “Or that someone you trust will betray you.”

“Theon would never betray me. I’ll make it impossible….”

The way the “Hm” jerked from the back of Roose’s throat, he seemed to be laughing or approving. He shifted and handed something to Ramsay.

“This isn’t even half.”

“No. It isn’t. I pay less for reckless work.”

“Dad!”

“You want more?”

Ramsay threw his hands up. “Yes!”

“What did you learn?”

“Fucking- seri-rr.” Ramsay choked on his indignation. “I should talk like a secret fucking agent at all times because the steering wheel may be an FBI mole deep undercover.”

Roose gave him more money.

“This isn’t enough, _Father_. You’re going senile.”

“It’s more than that answer deserved. Don’t make me regret my generosity.”

Ramsay seethed, motionless.

Theon changed the subject. “Damon got out?”

“Yeah! We’re gonna see him tonight.” Ramsay leaned forward so that his sharp smile came into view. “Hey, when you get shitfaced tonight you might punch some fucker who _actually_ deserves it!”

“And he did that to Luton for you… because Luton’s...” Theon wasn’t sure where Luton’s family was from. India? Pakistan? Essos?

Ramsay frowned and shoved back against the seat. “Domeric shouldn’t fucking insult me.”

“What?” Theon shook his head.

“He called me a liar!”

Roose snorted. “Yes, Ramsay. You lie. Constantly. That’s what a liar is.”

Ramsay shifted around in his seat.

“And why you are one.”

“He shouldn’t call me that!” Ramsay exploded. “If he’s going to insult me in front of you and Theon then he deserves what the fuck he got! He ALWAYS blames me for EVERYTHING! He should have fucking seen this coming! That’s what he gets! Luton TOOK my fucking car, in case you conveniently forgot!”

“To the estate where it’s locked up safely,” Roose clarified dryly.

“I should have had Damon burn HIS fucking car to the ground! I’ll decapitate that bitch and shove his head up Domeric’s asshole!”

“Don’t threaten your brother,” Roose said quietly.

Ramsay sank back down in his seat. “What threat? He’d love it.” When Roose didn’t laugh, Ramsay turned his attention to Theon. “Don’t you buy Dom’s bullshit. He’s not any better than me, he’s just worse at it.”

 _That_ Roose found funny.

“He was trying to use me, by the way. Bet you didn’t know that! Still, think he’s so fucking innocent?!”

Theon didn’t know what to think. “No.”

“He’s a good boy,” Roose said. “He’s simply lost, for the moment.” Roose’s eyes flicked up to pierce Theon’s again. “Like you.”

 

Ramsay was happy with that.

 

Luton dug through his messenger bag until he found his last five. He left it on the table with three quarters; enough for the coffee and a half decent tip. He packed up his notebook and headphones then headed out.

A woman with white braids pulled back by a dark green silk scarf looked up from her drawing to wave goodbye.

The tall barista with the glass spiral earrings and lumberjack beard called, “See you tomorrow. Are you going to read something?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Luton answered with a weary smile.

 

The windchime sang overhead as Luton stepped out into the cool night. He came to an abrupt stop on cafe’s patio.

Dom was sitting alone at a table facing Luton with a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand. “Hi.”

Luton moved out of the way as people entered the cafe. “Did you follow me?”

“No. I took a guess.” He extended his hand to offer the flowers.

Luton gave the offer a quizzical look.

Domeric’s shoulders dropped. He tossed the bouquet away.

“I left your house for a reason. I’m not ready to talk.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know.” Luton took a few indeterminate steps in Dom’s direction. “Is your brother going to have anyone else raid my apartment?”

Domeric’s face fell into his hands. “I don’t think so,” he mumbled through them. “I’m sorry.”

Luton bit his lip. He ventured a little closer. “I guess you were trying to stand up for me?”

Domeric’s fingers ran down his face as he sat up. “I should have listened to Roose. He can handle Ramsay. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. I’m so sorry.” He stood suddenly.

Luton stepped back. He gripped the messenger bag handle tightly, holding the bag just behind and away from his hip. In case he felt the need to swing it, Domeric supposed.

“Brothers fight,” Dom murmured. “You don’t have to…” He sat down slowly. “Ramsay’s not going to change, is he?”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

“I thought… if I helped him reconnect with this boy that really matters to him…” Domeric stared at a moth hopping, flopping, and flitting on the smooth wood planks at his feet. “He’s not going to get better.”

Luton frowned. He sat next to Domeric. “Sell him your stock.”

Domeric looked up. “What?”

“Have Ramsay buy your share of your dad’s company. You know? Like we talked about before. He can buy you out, we can take the money and get a little studio apartment in a new city.”

Domeric swallowed painfully. “I don’t think Roose would let that happen.”

Luton rolled his eyes. “What’s he going to do to stop you?”

Domeric shot up. “It was a stupid plan. Take this for the damage and trouble.” He grabbed a wad of hundreds from his wallet and tossed it in Luton’s face then left with his hands in his pockets.

Luton sat stunned until the wind woke him. He dropped to his knees and gathered all the bills he could grab.

“Ugh!” Wiping a bug off his knee, Luton decided to take the bouquet after all.

 

Theon jerked awake and gasped. He looked at his surroundings, trying to orient himself.

“Another nightmare?” Ramsay asked from the front seat.

The car had stopped. Roose’s window was open.

“Yes, Mr. Bolton?” a low voice said outside.

Roose reached up and clicked on a dome light. “See that boy in the backseat?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That is Theon.”

“Yes, sir.” The man stepped away from the car. He went into a small concrete building with one square window, sitting above Theon’s shoulder.

A gate opened. Roose drove them over a small bridge.

 

They passed through another gate, flanked on either side by an armed guard.

“What is this?” Theon sat up on his knees and looked out the back window.

“Hey!” Ramsay swatted at Theon. “Get down.”

“Where are we?”

“Home.”

 

Ramsay hopped out as soon as Roose parked in the circular driveway in front of an imposing front door. “Where’s my car!” he yelled before Roose had even turned off the engine.

“I told you; locked up safely. Damon can drive you. He’s never had a DUI.”

“Oh, ho, very funny.” Ramsay slammed his door then walked around and opened Theon’s. “The fuck are you waiting for? GET OUT!”

 

Looking up at the Bolton estate in the middle of the night, Theon was surprised how well it matched his grim expectations. It loomed all around him; cold and foreboding, sharp high peaks, crimson bricks, gothic details. The heavy door clapped shut behind him.

Still, once inside, it felt more normal than he would have thought. It wasn’t a mortuary or interrogation chamber. It really was someone’s sprawling, empty home.

Ramsay took hold of Theon’s wrist and lead him around by it. “This is the heart of the estate. Stay out. Sometimes Father meets with people upstairs. That’s, like, his business suite- stay the fuck out of there too. See that hall?”

Theon nodded.

“That leads to the west wing, which is Father’s wing. If you even get caught **looking** too far down it…” Ramsay’s eyes bulged. “Gods fucking help you. This is my wing.” Ramsay yanked Theon so he stumbled forward and quickened his pace. “Downstairs is bullshit. Just-”

“Stay out?” Theon bumped into Ramsay who had stopped suddenly.

His January eyes danced as he studied Theon. “Still a funny guy, huh?”

They looked at one another under the high, vaulted hallway ceiling.

Ramsay’s phone vibrated in his back pocket.

Theon caught a flash of movement in his periphery but realized it was only Ramsay’s reflection.

He reached out and touched the cold glass wall while Ramsay said a few words on the phone. “Look at the stars,” he whispered to himself. He’d never seen this many. The sky was only ever black before.

“Damon’s here. So, we’re heading to my side of the estate. I don’t use the first floor. Don’t go sniffing around it. Stay upstairs. Only. Got it? I’ll show you when we get home. So, where do you stay?”

“Upstairs in the east wing.”

“Fantastic. Now move your ass. We’re going on a field trip.”

“I don’t have shoes.”

Ramsay leaned closer so they were nose to nose. “No shit.”

Theon furrowed his brow and used the sleeve of his gold and black jacket to wipe blood off Ramsay’s cheekbone. “You have a…” Theon gestured to where the cut on the swelling bruise on Ramsay’s face would be on his own.

Ramsay touched the wound absentmindedly, his dancing eyes locked onto Theon’s.

“I shouldn’t have- look, I have three meetings tomorrow.”

“Do you want to have a drink with me?”

“Uh.” Theon glanced around. No exit in sight. The whole house felt like it had been expertly chiseled out of a haunted cave. “I don’t know.”

Ramsay stepped back and held out his hand. Theon hesitatingly reached out but Ramsay snatched it away at the last second. “Try again, slow ass.” He walked backward through the hall and held out his hand again.

Theon frowned and followed. “I’m not slow.”

“Slower than me.” Ramsay laughed when Theon missed again. “So pathetic!” He kept walking backward through the east wing, smoothly avoiding a stainless steel wet bar.

Theon tried not to smile.

“I’ll close my eyes this time.” He did and kept leading Theon through the empty mansion.

Theon hastened his pursuit and slapped harder at the thick white hand he couldn’t catch.

“Too. Fucking. Slow.”

“You’re eyes aren’t really closed!”

“Yes, they are!” Ramsay giggled.

He held out his hand again.

Theon flicked him off. He didn’t react. “Fine.”

Theon leaped forward and smacked Ramsay’s palm, then fell into Ramsay, who’d stopped. He held Theon’s hand and grabbing the back of his head, kissed him deeply. Theon was spun and pushed up against a door.

Ramsay pressed his forehead to Theon’s. “I knew you loved me too,” he said softly.

“I…”

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” Ramsay promised.

“I don’t know why I jumped on your brother,” Theon protested. “I fight too, um, much.” His lips found their way to Ramsay’s.

Ramsay hoisted Theon onto his hips and slammed him into the door. He bit Theon’s lip and pulled him by it before breaking away to whisper, _“Who’s ever fucked you like I do?”_

Theon held onto Ramsay’s shoulders. “No one.”

Heavy knocking thundered above them. “Hurry up!” Damon yelled, muffled by the door.

Ramsay panted, pressing Theon to the wall. “That’s right. No one. Let’s go. You don’t need shoes.”

Theon nodded, dazed.

Ramsay swallowed with difficulty. “You’re so relaxed, puppy.” He softly cupped the side of Theon’s face.

“Uh huh,” Theon sank into his palm. “But… I’m afraid of you.”

Damon yelled and pounded again.

“No.” Ramsay snapped. “Not of me, of yourself. Of what **you’ll** do!” He took a breath and changed into a calmer, more patient face. “I made mistakes. I’m sorry. We’re both sober now and we can help each other. I mean,” he reluctantly let Theon down, “we can still have a drink together, right? Of beer. Not Nightshade.” He gave Theon a soft kiss. The kind of kiss a person like Theon doesn’t get.

“Mmm, ok.”

“You’ll come with me?”

“Yes. I will.”


	22. Your Wayward Man

It wasn’t great to see Damon again.

When Ramsay opened the door his formidable shadow stood swallowing the soft landscape lighting. “Hey!”

Theon lost his balance when Damon messed his hair.

“You got him! Damn, Ramsay. I guess Luton called Domeric right away, huh? You look pretty rough.”

“Get your fucking paw off his head!” Ramsay did his best to shove Damon aside. He grabbed Theon’s wrist and kept him close as he charged toward a Jeep idling in the Bolton’s loop of a driveway.

A way too excited dirty blonde was driving. “Hi, Ramsay!” He looked like a linebacker who lost his scholarship to a state school and now spent a lot of time driving around parking lots, blasting metal.

Ramsay pushed Theon toward the backseat. “Hey, Junior. Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah! Look what I got you!”

“Give me that.” Ramsay snatched a worn leather journal from his hand. “Holy shit!” Ramsay leaned past Junior to click on the dome light. “His fucking cunty diary.” Ramsay thumbed through the pages. “Here’s a page about Domeric. This is fan-fucking-tastic.”

Damon sat next to Theon in the backseat. “You came to Ramsay’s parole hearing, huh?”

Theon dug his toes into the rough floor mats. “Yep.”

“Who else was  there?”

Theon glanced up at Damon from the corner of his eye. “Just… the lawyer, the board, his brother and a girl.” Theon wanted to keep Father Tarley’s name away from Ramsay and his friends.

_“Jeyne?”_

Ramsay appeared and punched Damon’s broad chest. “Get the fuck out of here, asshole! YOU should drive.”

Damon didn’t seem to mind. He stretched his way out of the backseat.

Ramsay sat next to Theon and hung an arm around his shoulders. “Why are you asking about Jeyne?”

“I wondered who the girl was at your hearing.” Damon peeled out but it was anticlimactic. He had to slow down for each gate and bridge on their way out.

“Who is Jeyne?” Theon whispered.

“Jeyne is a lot of things,” Ramsay said. “You know what she isn’t? _Loyal._ ”

Theon bit into his tongue then asked, “What happened?”

Ramsay’s jaw flexed. He slowly smiled. “She had an accident. She was dating me. I had to go downriver for a few months to take care of... family matters. Then one day, Domeric of all people showed up to tell me Jeyne was pregnant. Funny enough, the dates just didn’t add up. _Oops.”_

Theon’s jaw sank. “You mean, it wasn’t yours?”

“She had an accident, like I said.” Ramsay smiled to himself. “Now it isn’t anybody’s.”

“ _You_ had an accident,” Damon said.

“Well, you know, it takes two to make that kind of accident and sometimes it takes two to undo it.” Ramsay leaned forward to speak into Damon’s ear. “But no, she hasn’t thanked me for the miscarriage, if that’s what your asking.”

“Gods,” Damon laughed.

Ramsay threw his hands up. “ **I’m** the one who can’t drive! Apparently, she could drive her slutty ass all the way to Newt Firell to sit at my hearing and do fuck all! _That_ kind of freedom is what I saved her from giving up.” Ramsay sank back and held Theon tighter. “My neck is fine by the way, thanks for fucking asking, buddy.”

Damon’s voice reflected his easy smile. “I figured the whiplash wasn’t holding you back when you fought that big horsefucker in the yard.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ramsay giggled. “Drogo. Hey, you knew him right?”

Theon nodded.

If Loras ever talked about prison, he tended to act like only Theon had been there. Like he was reminding Theon why he should be grateful; the enormous risk Loras was taking doing Theon the favor of letting him live in the brownstone his grandparents owned.

_“homeless Kraken convict”_

“I think Drogo died while we were there,” Theon remembered.

“Yeah, I killed him!”

Theon’s already uneasy smile dissolved. “You… you did?”

When Junior saw Ramsay and Damon laughing, he began to laugh as well.

“So the Hoard at Newt Firell had taken over the basketball court, right?”

Junior twisted around the passenger seat to listen.

“All I had to do was pick up a basketball. This horse jizz gurgler stomps over, ‘Hey!'" Ramsay said in an exaggerated Dothraki accent, "The fuck you think you do?’”

Theon forgot how good Ramsay was at telling stories. At first, he tried to block things out and focus on his goal; getting back to his hotel room. But Ramsay did great impressions and it felt good to laugh with other people about this part of his life no one else understood.

 

Damon took Theon, Junior, and Ramsay for a crazy ride in his Jeep. They went up steep hills and down into stomach flipping hollows. The Jeep was rocked by saplings and brush tearing at its side.

Theon only had to think about not-dying. It was nice. If you can only concentrate on not crashing head first into a boulder, or getting sneaking another drink, or scoring your next hit, then all the horrible shit you've ever done, everything that has been done to you, simply ceases to matter.

 

They met up with three other guys and a girl in a shack of a bar with a low ceiling, neon lights, and old jukebox up in the Lonely Hills. A few people frowned at Theon’s jacket, but no one gave him or his bare feet a second glance. It was clear that he was part of an invincible group again. People moved out of their way, gave up their bar stools, offered up a lighter.

It all made Theon want a drink. Specifically, from the busty redhead behind the bar.

 

Ramsay’s group ended up in a clearing deep in the thick piney Northern woods on one of the Lonely Hills, drinking around a bonfire.

Theon looked at Ramsay’s sparkling eyes and slowly smiled with the left corner of his mouth. “I really love drinking.”

“I bet.”

Theon looked around. Damon and three other ugly guys were doing shots. “I want shots!”

Ramsay just stared into the fire.

“Okay?” Theon tried to slowly stand and smile.

Ramsay pulled him down. “One more. I’ll get it.” Ramsay was up so fast. Disappeared behind the fire. Into the dark. Into the cold. Theon searched. He didn’t like it.

Damon waved to Theon from the hood of his Jeep but he wasn’t smiling. He had been looking at the stars with the girl they picked up. It looked like she’d passed out.

Some people can’t hold their fucking liquor.

 

Ramsay filled a red plastic cup a fourth of the way with whiskey for his Theon.

“Hey,” Damon called. He hopped down off his Jeep and grabbed a beer out of the cooler. “Do you have my money?”

 _“Yes,”_ Ramsay snapped. “I told you I would. Unclench your fucking asshole already. _”_ Ramsay shoved past Damon.

 

Ramsay was back. He sat next to Theon on a thick log he’d thrown a rough blanket over.

“I’m leaving with you, right?”

Ramsay smirked. “No shit, fuckstick. Here. No more for you tonight.”

“Thaaaank you.” Theon smiled. “You smell good.”

“You’re a silly drunk,” Ramsay said softly.

“I fell into you. Is that ok?”

“Is that _ok?”_ Ramsay was so happy that it made Theon happy.

He closed his eyes for a moment and was moved into Ramsay’s warmth. He opened one eye. “I’m in your arms again. Like when I punched Loras.”

“Like a lot of times, puppy.”

“You know what is so much better than not drinking is drinking.”

Ramsay pet his head. It felt amazing.

“This is my favorite me.”

“What is?”

“Drunk me. Isn’t it your favorite too?”

“No.” Ramsay traced the structure of Theon’s face with one finger. “I love you many different ways.”

"I meant..." Theon swallowed. "You..." He stopped when darkness fell over him.

“Ramsay.” Damon stood blocking the fire’s warmth with his arms crossed.

“Hi!” Theon said.

Ramsay smirked. “Damon’s cool, huh?”

Theon shrugged. “Sure.”

“Nothing bothers Damon. Not prison, not losing a friend, not blood, not a corpse, not even solitary. Nothing gets to Damon except envy. If I get a car, he wants my car. If I get a whore, he wants my whore. If I get money, he wants my money. He even wants you. But even Damon isn’t that stupid. Right, Damon?”

“It’s not your money,” Damon said in a low voice. “It’s my money.”

“Oh?” Ramsay pulled out a tightly rolled wad of bills and waved it under Damon’s nose. "Because you trashed some twink's studio apartment?"

Damon grinned and grabbed at the cash but Ramsay snatched it back in time, then tossed it into the bonfire.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Damon dropped to his knees and tried to grab the money. He hissed and withdrew his burnt fingers. “Gods damn it!”

Ramsay giggled as the wad blackened and crumbled in the flames. “It’s no one’s money now!”

“Fucking asshole.” Damon climbed back up to his feet, keeping his shaking hand close to his chest without touching it.

Guys around the fire were laughing and expressing their surprise with different screams and noises.

Ramsay only looked at Theon. “When’s the last time you were drunk like this?”

“Mmmmm… ‘spose… um, that windy place where my sister is.”

“The islands?”

“Yup. Yeah. That’s it. Iron. I-ron. Iron Man.”

“I guess she didn’t tell you a lot. She’s probably running everything now that Rodrik’s dead.”

“Shit. He is dead. Why do I keep forgetting? He went to prison… he was killed in prison… like Drogo.”

“You’re not going to pass out, are you?”

“He’s never getting out. I took the fall for him for nothing. That’s what she said.”

Ramsay smoothed hair off of Theon’s forehead. “It wasn’t for nothing. You met me.”

Theon opened his eyes. He studied Ramsay, squinting while the firewood popped and cracked. “You want to know where my uncle is? Pyke. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Where in Pyke? It’s a big island-”

“Especially when people want to kill you there.”

“Especially if you want to kill people.” Ramsay grinned. “You don’t know, do you? She doesn’t trust you with important information.”

“No!” Theon sat up straight and pushed himself away from Ramsay’s lap. “That’s not true!”

“It’s ok.”

“He’s in _Pyke_ , Pyke!” Theon erupted. “It’s the main city in Pyke! PY, PY; ever seen that on some cool ass stolen car?” Theon tried to laugh through gritted teeth. “When he’s not staying in his penthouse the Seastone Casino, Euron stays on a Yacht called Silence in Lord’s Port. You see what I fucking know now?!”

Ramsay put his hands up in defeat. “You win. I’m impressed.”

“You’re laughing at me. You think I’m nothing in the Iron Islands?! Huh? Everyone knows who the fuck I am there, at home. _That’s_ my home! I can walk two fucking feet without getting ass or pussy shoved in my face.”

“Ok,” Ramsay scoffed, indulging Theon. “Relax. You’re talking a lot of shit right now because you’re drunk, _again_.”

“No. No! I’m not drunk! I’m just buzzed and I’m NOT lying.”

Ramsay rolled his eyes. “Anyway, aren’t you cold in that ridiculous outfit? There’s a leather bomber jacket in the cabin you can borrow.”

“Why don’t you believe me? I was in only Pyke for ten fucking hours and I _still_ got laid.”

Ramsay froze. All the talk around them stopped. The fire crackled. Wind blowing through the trees almost sounded like distance ocean waves. “Bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” Theon rose to his unsteady feet. He smiled and pulled a piece of napkin out of his pocket. “Is this bullshit?” He tossed it at Ramsay’s white face, but it only wafted slowly to his knee. “You think you ruined me? Fuck you. His name is Qarl. I spent the night with him and he’s pretty as hell.”  

Ramsay slowly picked up the piece of napkin on his leg and unfolded it. His lip twitched. “Roz.”

Theon’s indignant rage went cold. He looked all around. Nothing but black night, trees upon trees, and Ramsay’s boys staring at him from the edges of the fire's light.

Ramsay stood.

Theon took a step back.

Ramsay watched the fire for awhile then tossed the piece of napkin in. He turned to Theon then slowly put on a wide smile. “Roz and Qarl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half way there! Woo hoo! :D
> 
> Next chapter is the fun _[horrible]_ chapter! At last! 
> 
> How is this thing working so far? Too much? Too boring? Does it feel like it's not going anywhere or like too much is going on? Any relationship or backstory you're missing/want more of?
> 
> Actual action is coming up along with all the trigger warnings. Things will get more dark and violent, so take care to look at the tags. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this beast!! <3


	23. An Army Made of You

A branch in the bonfire popped and cracked into two glowing blood orange pieces. Half of Ramsay’s face was lit by the flickering light but his eyes seemed to shine from within.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Theon, we need to talk.”

“Listen, I didn’t- it’s not like I cheated on you.”

“No?” Ramsay kept grinning and staring.

“No! You know that! Remember? You said you were moving on.”

“Moving _forward_. With my recovery.”

“Yeah, no, but you said that you made mistakes; you wanted to apologize-”

“Why would that mean it’s over? Why would that mean anything was over? I said all this shit **after** you let some Ironborn bitch fuck you, by the way.” Ramsay stepped forward.

“But…” Theon stepped back.

“So what does it matter?”

“Wait.” Theon smiled at all the wrong times. “I fucked him, actually.”

“No, you didn’t.” Ramsay darkened. “Oh. So he wouldn’t see your back. I guess I didn’t think about that.” Ramsay slowly came closer. “You fucked him? What a relief. I was starting to get jealous but it’s simply a funny misunderstanding if **you** fucked **him**.”

“I’m sorry. I was really drunk-”

“Of course you were. Then you could leave the blurry memory in an unopened box once you were sober. Almost like it never happened.”

“But, you’re acting like- we weren’t- it was over, Ramsay.”

“Do you remember the last thing I said to you before you the guards took you away from me? Before you slid your whiskey dick into some diseased Kraken’s gaping asshole?”

Theon backed away, shaking his head. But he did remember.

“I didn’t say, ‘So long, Theon. Thanks for the memories. Have yourself a good fuck once you’re out.’ I told you that if you _touch_ anyone I will skin them alive and fuck the hole I stab through their stomach.” Ramsay’s sharp grin spread under his wide eyes, “Sweetheart, you and I have a special date with Qarl.”

“You said you were sober now!”

Ramsay giggled. “I haven’t had a drink all night.”

“But… but you made it seem like you wanted another chance and like it wouldn’t be the way it was- fuck!” Theon had stepped back onto a pine cone. He was getting further away from the light and warmth.

“Did I? Well, I lied.” Ramsay became a featureless shadow against the fire, which continued to slowly shrink behind him, step by step. “Why _wouldn’t I_ want things be the way they were? Give me one reason. Because you’ve done so well without me?”

The fire was blocked by Ramsay’s boys crowding around him.

“Or because as soon as things changed, you went out of your way to ignore me? Should I trust you _more_ because you changed your number after  I called you?”

Theon tripped over a fallen tree.

“Should I respect your choices more because you moved after I found where you were living? Or because you couldn’t be bothered to send a fucking post-it note to Newt Firell letting me know you were still breathing after the raid on the Honeywine killed your Kraken asshole friends and family? What, exactly, have you done that would make me prefer you running around without a leash?”

Theon scrambled to his feet and backed further into the woods. He glanced around but could only make out the shapes of the trees and bushes within ten to fifteen feet of him.

“A _second chance?”_ Ramsay spit. “You’re **mine**. You said you belonged to ME.”

“Ramsay,” Theon pleaded, “you _made_ me say it.”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT ISN’T TRUE!”

Flashlights clicked on around Ramsay. His boys started laughing and woofing.

Theon turned and ran.

 

He didn’t make it far before Ramsay tackled him onto the cold, hard ground.

Theon twisted to see Ramsay’s fist in the starry sky, then nothing at all.

 

“Mmmm.”

Theon shook his heavy head. He didn’t want to get up.

“Mm!”

Loras kicked his shin.

“Lemme alone,” he mumbled. “I like it on the floor.”

Loras kicked him again. The hard floor rolled and tilted.

“Go away. Let me sleep it off,” Theon slurred.

“Mmm! Mmm!”

Theon opened one eye. _Wait a minute._ He opened both eyes then squinted.

The redhead bartender was laying next to him staring with a duct-taped mouth and enormous, teary eyes.

“Holy shit.” Treetops held a canopy of stars far above them. His fingers were fat and throbbing behind his back. “Roz?”

The redhead nodded. Fuck, she looked shaken.

A picture was finally coming together.

“We’re in a truck bed?”

She nodded again.

“Are your wrists taped behind your back too? Then we’ll slide our wrists down around our asses.”

He thought Maron was such an asshole for testing Theon, putting him through ‘drills’. Maron would sound so much like their father. Rodrik would drink and laugh if he was around. But Balon, Maron, and Rodrik all died young and now Theon was trying to use things Maron taught him. Maybe Maron cared about him. Maybe not, but none of it was a game.

He and Roz curled up into balls and worked their wrists past the soles of their feet.

“We’re going to sit up, put our hands above our heads, and then pretend we’re elbowing people behind us. Like you’re breaking the duct tape on your stomach. Then we have to jump. Ok?”

Roz nodded resolutely.

Theon’s stomach twisted painfully, but he smiled to reassure her. “Ok.”

The duct tape split open like wrapping paper. The truck came to a dead stop. Red light flooded over them as they crashed into the tailgate. Theon and Roz scrambled to get out and both fell onto a tree-lined dirt road. Roz sprang up first and took Theon’s hand.

Damon’s Jeep was coming up the hill. The truck doors opened.

“Here!” Roz pulled Theon into the black Forest. They stumbled, fell and rolled down the steep hillside.

Theon came to a painful stop when his head and shoulder hit a thick tree trunk.

 

“Greyjoy!” Roz was shaking his shoulder.“There you are. Stay with me.”

Theon held his pounding head with both hands. “Go.”

 

Theon woke up to a slap. How long had it been? Roz was still shaking his shoulders. “Wake up!”

“Run,” fell like marbles from his mouth.

“No. You have to get up! Come ON! Stay with me!”

Roz covered her eyes with one hand when flashlights shined down on her face. She pulled her heels off then ran, leaping into the dark woods.

Theon got to his feet but could only see the pulsing red circles the bright lights left in his already unfocused eyes.

He didn’t know how, but he was running too.

 

Beams from the flashlights ran across tree bark and decaying logs in the corners of Theon’s eyes. Behind him, the snaps of twigs and rustle of brush quickened. The boys drunken woofing sounded less and less like a group of fans after a football game, and more like a demented mob.

Something came crashing through the brush behind him and caught the back of his jacket.

Theon cried out and twisted and tore his way free from the jacket.

Damon laughed and grabbed Theon by the back of his shirt and waist of his pants.

“No-”

Damon tore Theon’s shirt, pulling him into a bear hug.

“Please!”

Damon’s breath was hot against his neck. “Please, what?”

“You didn’t have to see me. I mean... what if you didn’t?”

“What if?”

Beams of light ran, searching through trees and bushes downhill and west of them. Ramsay’s boys started woofing and yelling wildly.

“I’d do anything.”

“Anything?” Damon put Theon down and turned him. They squinted, trying to see one another in the dark.

“ _Anything_.”

Damon stood up straight and scratched the back of his head. “If I let you go how will I find you?”

“Find me?”

Damon tilted his head and grinned. “Yeah. So you can do _anything_ for me.”

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“I would never betray Ramsay like that.”

“Wha-what?”

“I would do anything to keep him from killing me. I wanted to go back  _myself,_ Damon. I wish you hadn’t told me what you were really thinking.”

Damon shook his head. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“Now you can either let me go or kill me.” Theon looked downhill at the swarming beams of light.

Damon did too. “Meet me in the cabin tomorrow morning.”

“Damon, this is the first time I’ve ever been in A forest, let alone this one. I have no fucking clue where the cabin is or where I am! Listen, I wouldn’t kill me, if I were you. I don’t think Ramsay will stop until he finds me. You’re the only one not in that pack with him. What happens when he calls you? What happens when he finds my body? But, if you bring me back, Ramsay is going to ask what happened and he knows when I’m lying. I’m sorry.”

“Huh.” Damon scratched his forehead for a moment.

"I'll just leave. Ok? I'll try to go home. And you can say you didn't find me."

Damon stared at the lights for agonizing seconds, then he walked downhill toward the lights.

Theon stood frozen as Damon left him to join Ramsay and his boys. He held his heavy head with one hand and made his way deeper into the woods.

Among the giant pines, Theon plodded on, dizzy and all pounding heart. He searched for a tree which he might stand a chance of climbing.

A shrill scream cut through the forest.

Theon was drawn to it, even though he had told her to go. Even though it wasn’t his fault. He told her to run. He told her to…

 

Ramsay strode through layers of trees, in and out of streaks of light. He stopped and grinned in his own cold spotlight then flung his hand up above his shoulder. A flash of reflected light woke Theon from his daze then two sparkling ruby red pieces twirled and snapped together in Ramsay’s fist.

Theon gasped. “No.”

Roz babbled in a tight, high voice as Theon sprinted through trees and hopped over whatever black mass his brain perceived to be a hole, root, branch, thorns, spikes, skulls…

“Please,” hung, wobbling in the air, then broke as Ramsay dropped.

Theon’s foot was caught. It twisted as his forearms slammed into the ground. He fell on to one shoulder and his ankle popped. He could see Ramsay through the trunks and brush and watched, outside of himself, as Ramsay’s arm raised and fell, raised and fell, over and over.

Blood freckled half of his white face. His hand was all ruby red now.

 

At last, Ramsay exhausted himself and sat up smiling. He scanned the trees around him and got up from the body.

Junior got on top of the mess but the lights fled and searched through the woods instead of watching.

 

Theon didn’t blink when it shined in his eyes. He didn’t hear what Ramsay was saying to him or move when Ramsay kneeled in front of him.

He didn’t feel anything.

“I knew you’d come back.” Ramsay wiped his hand on Theon’s torn and dirt stained baby blue mesh shirt. He smiled with the peace and satisfaction of someone who’d just finished a fine meal. “Shine some light on his chest.”

Theon watched Ramsay yank his shirt and bring his bloody knife to the collar. He watched the blade run down and part his blue shirt like Moses in the sea.

“Give me your hand.”

Theon’s gaze blurred past Ramsay’s face. His numb arm lifted.

Ramsay slowly pulled his shirt off of that arm, then the other. He used it to clean his blade.

“Are you killing me now?” Theon asked.

“I’m not going to kill you, puppy.” Ramsay kissed his forehead. “You’re a fucking mess.” His smiling lips grazed Theon’s ear. “I love you just like this too. But my favorite Theon is the one I’m inside of. Only me. Only ever me. Understand?”

Theon nodded.

“Good boy.” He tossed Theon’s shirt to Damon. “Burn that with the body. Theon,” he prodded gently. “Where’s your jacket?”

Theon shook his blank head. “She left her shoes in the woods. I think she needs her shoes. The ground is so cold.”

“She won’t be cold, baby.” Ramsay gave Theon’s head a pat and put his arm around Ramsay’s shoulders. “Damon! Get your giant head out of your ass. Throw the shirt on the whore’s corpse and come get this rock off his foot!”

 

Ramsay carried Theon up the hill on his shoulders while the boys made another fire.

 

He set Theon down on the road in between the truck and Jeep and sat beside him to catch his breath.

Theon laid back on the hard dirt because his head was heavy.

“They were always there. Did you ever think about that?”

Theon didn’t respond.

“You just couldn’t see them before. Pollution, clouds, buildings, neon lights and shit. Look what you were ignoring.”

Theon blinked a few times. “All the stars.”

Ramsay laid a thick hand next to Theon’s head and blocked his view with a kiss.

Theon whined and turned his hips away when Ramsay started undoing his pants.

“Shhh.”

Needles spread like wildfire up Theon’s spine and across his chest.

“You can’t run anymore. You’re leg’s all fucked. Isn’t that nice?”

Theon swallowed, slowly turning his head this way then that. Smoke drifted high into the sparkling night sky.

“Lift your ass, puppy. That’s a good boy.”

_“Please don’t.”_

Ramsay pulled Theon’s pants down then spit into his palm. “Who am I?”

“Please?” Theon closed his eyes. It smelled like barbeque. The boys sounded much closer than they were. “Ah!”

“Shh. I’ll wait. Isn’t that better?”

The stars blurred and Theon gave in.

“Good boy. You don’t want me to hurt you, do you, sweetie? I want this to be a nice night for us.”

Theon whimpered.

“It’s very romantic, what I did,” Ramsay whispered. “Everything I’ve done for you is. You see that now, don't you?”

Theon nodded. “Thank you.”

Ramsay’s heart swelled. “Easy, easy. There you go. Relax a little more for me.”

“Please don’t hurt…” Theon choked on his words so Ramsay helped him.

“Look at me. Who am I?”

“Master.”


	24. A Change

In the back seat of another car, Theon was a doll again, only now his glossy eyes were open. Ramsay moved his head and it stayed that way. He examined Theon’s long, quick fingers. There was dirt and dead skin from Ramsay’s back and ribs under his nails. His dyed black hair still curled into the same tight, disorganized waves when Theon sweat. Like it used to. Like it should do.

Ramsay turned Theon by his arms to better view at his back.

Skinner’s work had held up. It stood out clear and vivid between Theon’s shoulder blades. “When’s the last time you saw your tattoo?”  

“She said she’d suck your dick! What a whore!” Junior had been verbally coming all over the front seat the whole ride home. The kid had never seen a real corpse before. He’d probably never watched someone die up close. He kept licking his lips and rubbing his mouth as he babbled. “I guess she was a natural redhead.” He shoved Damon’s unmoved shoulder. “Right?”

Damon smiled in his open, easy way. “I could have told you that.”

“She thought you would save her!” Junior cackled.

Damon shrugged. He glided around some fucker who had cut them off.

Ramsay pulled Theon’s hair until he’d bent, facing Ramsay’s lap, one doll hand on Ramsay’s thigh and one on the seat. “I don’t like the black.”

“I’m sorry,” Theon mumbled. He was jostled when the Jeep hit a bump.

“Lay down.”

Theon slowly looked up then. “Lay...?”

Ramsay smirked, feeling indulgent. “I’ll do it. Then you can’t fuck up.” He moved and repositioned Theon until he was happy.

Ramsay couldn’t feel any difference between the tattoo’s texture and the rest of Theon’s gold toned skin. “Do you remember what it means?”

Junior laughed. “What do you think they’ll say on the news?!”

Ramsay looked up. “News?”

“It won’t be on the news.” Damon said.

Junior rolled down his window and started woofing out it, like they had in the woods.

Ramsay leaned closer to Damon. “Stop at the cabin on the way out. I left a box of cigars I want.”

Damon glanced back then gave a nod. “Sure thing.”

Ramsay eased back and played with Theon’s little sticky-out ear. “Do you remember-”

“What?” Junior asked, leaning in between the front seats and grinning.

“I’m talking to Theon.” Ramsay twirled his finger, indicating that Junior should turn around.

Theon curled up tighter. His breathing grew faster and more shallow so Ramsay pet his hair.

Theon peered up with round, pleading eyes and gave a slight shake of his head.

Ramsay winked and pulled out his phone.

“I wonder what my brothers will think tomorrow?” Junior yelled over the wind.

“Oh, I bet they’ll be surprised!” Ramsay said.

Damon laughed and put on some music.

 

The Jeep stopped on the dirt and gravel road leading to the cabin.

“Do you want me to get the cigars?” Damon offered.

“Thanks, buddy. Junior, why don’t you go with him and get some Schnapp’s for Theon?”

Theon gazed at a faraway nothing. He obviously didn’t get the joke. Ramsay would have to press that button later.

“Ok!” Junior hopped out and raced ahead into the dark.

Damon followed.

Dick’s truck pulled up behind them and caught Junior in its high beams.

Damon’s gun popped and softly echoed in different pitches off the hills. The bit of Junior’s jeans and hoodie Ramsay could see in the headlights teetered then collapsed.

Damon told Dick and BTM to throw his body down the mineshaft and gave them some money for the trouble. They didn’t have any questions or concerns. They didn’t say much at all, actually, and that’s how Ramsay likes it. “So,” he looked down at Theon. “As I was fucking saying, tell me what your tattoo means.”

“Start with the blood drop. What does that mean?”

“I’m yours.”

“EXCLUSIVELY!” Ramsay barked at Damon who was buckling his seatbelt. But it was Theon who jumped. “Poor puppy…”

Damon smirked.

Ramsay reinforced the lesson. “Yes, that’s very good,” he said in a warm, gentle voice. “You still like to be my good boy?”

Theon’s eyes rolled up and closed. “Yes.”

With a jerk and shift, Ramsay pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Here’s your money.” Damon looked over his shoulder and snatched the money. “Oh, shit! Why…?”

“It was Junior’s cut. It came back to me that someone bragged about Stannis at the bar. I knew it wasn’t you.”

Damon’s head jerked. “Does your dad know?”

“No, thank the fucking gods. It’s fine, no one knew who he was.”

“No one should know it was murder,” Damon laughed.

“I’m so glad you understand. So, how would you like to bring me that Kraken slut for triple the money?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. Why is my cut so big?”

“I have to make myself look valuable to my father before Domeric comes home and starts spit shining his balls again so I can’t do it myself. I can’t trust anyone else, so no one else gets a piece. Lucky you, but I need more Damons.”

Damon shrugged happily. “That’s _unlucky_ for you, shitfuck.”

Looking out the window with a content smile, Ramsay began to caress Theon’s face with with the back of his hand. “What does the dollar sign mean, puppy?”

  


When they came home for the night, Theon was a real gods damn wreck; angry swollen ankle, drunk, dirty, scratched and torn from rolling down the hillside, a knot on the back of his head from hitting a tree, and a black eye from running his fucking mouth.

Good thing Ramsay was finally there to take care of him.

 

The next day and the one after that, Theon remained a quiet, compliant doll. He let Ramsay fuck and bath him.

He didn’t utter one word of protest or tense a muscle in defiance when Ramsay sat him in a chair in the backyard and shaved all the black hair of his head.

He didn’t twitch against his bonds or beg for mercy. His eyes didn’t change the way they used to. He didn’t react with the same gorgeous symphony of expression, like he always had before.

It was getting boring.

 

“What is it?”

“Hey, Dom!” Ramsay was sitting on the counter of his kitchenette, swinging his feet, waiting for one of the staff to bring his pizza.

“It’s nothing,” Dom answered for him.

“No, wait! I need your help.”

“Why would I help you?”

“I think I broke Theon.”

If Ramsay would have had the foresight to record the conversation, he would have Dom’s exasperated sigh to play over and over and over again. For example, when Dom started going off about something that’s “ **NOT** funny”.

“You know I can’t actually help you with that.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll just tell you to let him go. You should let him go, Ramsay.”

“Why did you help me get him then?!”

“I misunderstood your intentions… and you.”

“Shut up.”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait! What do I do, though?”

“...”

“Dommmmmm. Come on. You helped me get him because I love him.”

“Please… ,” Dom scoffed. “I have to go. Walda can help you, not me.”

“Walda may not want to talk to me for awhile…”

“Why- no, I can’t right now. If she’s upset, _then give her a break.”_

Ah, he was trying to help Ramsay without ‘helping’ him. “By…”

“Watching Rosie for her.”

 _No, shit!_ “Thanks, Dom.” Ramsay grinned and hung up.

 

“Theon. Theeeon.”

The sheets slowly rolled and shifted. Theon’s buzzed head peeked out. He shielded his eyes from the light.

“Hey, sleepy! I got us pizza!”

“Thank you, Ma-”

“HEY!” Ramsay quickly interrupted. “Look what I brought you!”

Theon reluctantly yet dutifully sat up, rubbing his eyes. He blinked and kept blinking then raised both palms like he was being held up. “Wha-what are you doing with a child?”

“It’s Rosie!”

The little girl in Ramsay’s arms waved to Theon. “Hi.”

  


After Domeric hung up, he apologized. “Sorry about that. Is this for me?”

You can tell if Margaery is really smiling by watching her ears. When she _really_ laughs and grins, her little pointed ears move.

She set a small cup of espresso in front of him then across at the small patio he’d found for them with a real smile on her radiant face.

Not many people make Margaery _really_ smile but Domeric does. “Thank you.”

“Was that your brother?”

Domeric adjusted his glasses and scowled at whipping wind. “How could you tell?”

“Because you’re nice to everyone else.” She laughed and wrapped both her delicate hands around her mug of tea and softly blew at the rising steam, as though the continuous gusts assaulting them had no effect on her.

“You know how he is,” Domeric grumbled.

“But you still love him,” Margaery said with gravity as if it said something meaningful about Domeric.

It made him uncomfortable, yet if Margaery thought he was a good person that would be an extraordinary thing. She knew him well and, in spite of being very cynical, she truly understood and valued goodness.

The coffee shop patio would feel unbearable desolate if she wasn’t there with him.

“What did you want to give me?” he asked, smiling.

She dug through her purse and pulled out the flask Loras had given Theon. “I found this on the side of my grandmother’s driveway.”

“I thought you weren’t speaking to Theon?”

“I’m not. Here. You give it to him.”

“Alright.” Domeric looked it over. He wished he could send it to a lab and have it tested. He felt around the manufactured bullet dent with one finger. “Fuck.”

”What is it?” Margaery was putting her hair up into a messy bun to keep it out of her face. “You need to go home?”

Domeric blushed a little and leaned closer, smiling conspiratorialy. “And how did you know that?”

“I did when Loras... well, had his trouble.”

”But Stannis is dead now and Ramsay’s out of prison. We’re free, aren’t we?” he said dryly.

”I think I am. But Ramsay was probably safer in that daycare your father got him into then he is running around society.”

Domeric sighed and sipped his espresso.

”I’m actually moving up North.”

”You are? Why?”

”Flourish is in the process of being acquired... by Bolton Industries.”

Domeric choked on his drink. He held up a finger to excuse himself and hurried to the bathroom coughing and hacking. 


	25. Please Give Me a Feeling

Careful with each breath and blink, Theon kept his palms in the air. “Alright. Alright. I’ll do it.”

Ramsay twirled and dropped onto the bed with Rosie in his arms. She laughed and climbed up his chest to standing. “Do WHAT?” Two black pigtails swung back and forth as she bounced on the mattress.  “What? What? Whaaa-at?”

“Yeah, do what?”

 _“Whatever you want,”_ Theon whispered.

“You give up? Huh? Give up?” Rosie asked as she jumped around.

“Ramsay, please don’t-” Theon started twitching. His shoulders jerked like he was trying not to puke.

“She’s not my fucking hostage, you dumb shit,” Ramsay laughed. “She’s my sister.”

Rosie stopped jumping. “He, he’s the hos-tige. See? Wook!”

Theon let his hands drop.

“You’re right.” Ramsay caught Rosie just before she jumped knees first onto his stomach and giggled. “Can he put his hands down now?”

Theon let his hands drop.

Ramsay lifted Rosie over his chest. She spread her arms like an airplane. “Ummmm, yep!”

“You’re so sweet.”

“I...  I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I know. I didn’t find out until after you were taken away. Not from Father, no. He’s not one for ‘small talk’. _Domeric_ told me,” Ramsay said bitterly. “How old are you, Rosie?”

“Three!” She held out three pink fingers and smiled with big pink cheeks.

Theon leaned closer. Her eyes were the same pale blue-gray as Domeric’s. “Oh, wow.”

“I was surprised too. I can’t believe my father’s not coming dust and shredded documents at this point.”

_“Ramsay!”_

“What?”

Theon shot a look at Rosie who was hopping around again and raised his eyebrows.

“Right, _our father_. I’m very considerate of Rosie’s feelings. She loves me better than anyone, right?” Ramsay tickled his sister as she laughed and thrashed around in a pink cotton shirt and puffy sparkling tutu.

Theon held his head and leaned against the mess of pillows behind him.

Ramsay stopped and pinned her chest with one light hand.  “Am I your favorite brother?”

“Umm, well, Domewic is going to get me a pegas-is.”

“Well, he’s a fucking faggot.”

 _“Ramsay,”_ Theon plead under his breath.

“What? You think I should get her that toy because of her,” Ramsay made a wide-eyed yikes face, “ _uncle_?”

Theon stared for a moment. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Do you feel better or what?” Ramsay snapped jumping up. He began to walk around the room with his arms crossed.

Theon’s eyes got big and sad but he was shutting down again.

Domeric didn’t fix anything. That’s fine. Theon was protesting; like Ramsay wouldn’t figure it out. Acting like it’s so tragic to be here, safe, in a beautiful place with a beautiful person who loves him. He doesn’t appreciate anything! He’s trying to harden and deaden himself since he can’t leave. Ramsay can crack him open. Rip him apart.

“What’s your name?”

Ramsay stopped pacing by the window and glanced back at the bed.

Theon pulled the sheets up to his chest when Rosie plodded over lumps of covers, crumpled blankets and retreating limbs toward his face. He tried to lean away but she grabbed his nose with two little pink fingers.

“Ow-OW!” Theon carefully removed her hand and sucked at his teeth. The left side of his nose was still swollen hues of yellow and blue. There was a sweet new crook to the bridge of his nose that Ramsay liked to kiss at night. “I’m Theon,” he mumbled.

“I wike your haiur.” Rosie reached up and ran her small, plump hand over his ash brown buzz cut.

“You do?”

“Uh huh. Sooooo soft!”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a wot of diffewent ca-wahs!”

“It is?”

“Uh huh!” Rosie was little, bright, and fluid in Ramsay’s big, empty gray room. She was soft in contrast with the room’s sharp lines. She gave Theon’s short hair a tug.

“Hey!” Theon grinned.

“Well, um, how did you make it all those ca-wahs?”

“I don’t know. My mom’s hair was kind of sandy brown.”

“His eyes are different colors too. They’re blue on the outside and green in the middle.” Like honey at the center.

“Do you, do you, um, wike my skiut?!” She spun with a wobble.

“Definitely. I love it.”

“It’s my favorite and every single day, mommy says ‘No, no, no. Pick something else. You can’t pick the tutu.’ And I say,” she jumped with each word, “YES, I WILL!”

“Every day,” Ramsay confirmed. He sat at the foot of the bed.

“I had a jacket like that. I mean, I wore it every single day too.”

Rosie’s light blue-gray eyes widened. “Where is it?”

“At my-this hotel.” Theon chewed his bottom lip. It was a mess.

“Well, let’s go!”

Theon looked down and sucked at his abused lip without answering.

“Why not?!” Somehow she guessed. “WAMSAY!”

 

It was surprisingly crisp outside for being so bright in between drifting cotton candy clouds. The Bolton’s private drive was unnaturally smooth under Theon's feet, even though the pavement was sunbleached. Where were the cracks? Theon took in all the sunlit details he could. The estate sat on the crest of a hill, surrounded by thick, shady evergreens. Cart trails and fences encircled the mansion and long, windowless, cement garage. A man in a black uniform, who looked more like security than a mechanic, had driven Ramsay’s red Charger out of it, tossed Ramsay his keys and walked silently back up the drive until the gray building’s rolling door swallowed him up again.

“Hey!” Ramsay snapped his fingers and pointed to the open driver’s door.

“You... do you want me to drive?”

Ramsay snorted and bent to buckle Rosie in. “You don’t have a license, fuckwad.”

“I do. I just-”

“No, **you don’t**. All good?” Ramsay cheerfully asked his sister.

“Uh huh!”

He stood and shut her door. “Rules matter, Theon. I’m playing a game I’d like you to help me with; ‘keep Ramsay out of prison’. It’s great.”

“Ok.”

“No one waived all my shit away for me.” Ramsay kept complaining but Theon was distracted by his tailored pink linen button and thin distressed leather jacket. His dark jeans were faux vintage. His boots were the heavy combat boots as always. He was so obviously a rich person pretending to be poor just to prove how fucking rich he was.  “I still have to meet with a pus leaking dickhole once a month.”

“Is that where you go?”

Ramsay pinched Theon’s delicate nose eliciting the kind of cry he liked. “I go lots of places. No one’s taking care of me, like I do for you.” Ramsay got into the driver seat and beckoned Theon with a finger.

“Yes?”

“Blow into that.” Ramsay pointed to a tube beside him.

Ramsay hadn’t drunk anything but Coke with his pizza. “You want me to, but you want to drive?”

“Yes. Yes, Theon. That is what I said. My gods, good thing I don’t depend on you to shoot my fucking enemies.”

“I just-”

“It’s beneath me. Get on your knees and you do it.” A hungry grin slowly eclipsed his impatient expression.  

“Yes-” Theon glanced at the backseat. Rosie’s head was bobbing around while she kicked her legs and sang nonsense to herself.

Ramsay’s eyebrows rose with mock pleasantry.

Theon’s bad knee raged against the slow fall and landing.

“Look at me while you do it.”

Theon smirked. His tongue slithered out and ran slowly up the tube. He kept his eyes on Ramsay and watched his lips part when he took the device into his mouth.

“Wamsay! GO! It’s soooo borrring!”

His has was to short to pull, so Ramsay grabbed Theon by the neck and put the key in the ignition. “Back,” he said in a low voice. “Blow. Keep going.”

The car roared then rumbled to life.

“ _Good boy_. Get in the car.”  

 

                                                                   

The Charger’s bright red passenger door swung open as soon as Ramsay stepped onto the hotel parking lot. Theon emerged, holding onto the corner for support. Or for reassurance.

“I told you to stay in the car.”

“I’m right here.” Theon’s knuckles whitened. “Ramsay,-”

“Is this it?” Ramsay held up a gaudy sharkskin blazer.

“No. I could’ve told you-”

Ramsay shoved a blue wool tweed parka in Theon’s face. “This one?”

The fur trim tickled Theon’s nose and made him half sneeze. “No.” He rubbed his eye with the back of two fingers.

“Hmm. I only one more. I hope this is it.”

Theon blinked his eyes open then slammed into Ramsay, wrapping both arms around his neck.

“Yay!” Rosie clapped in the backseat.

Ramsay winked at Rosie and let Theon hug him. “That was it?”

“Uh huh,” Theon said with a sniff.

Ramsay lightly pressed his cheek to Theon’s. “I knew it.”

 

They were driving back from a roadside ice cream stand, headed home when the phone rang. Rosie was passed out in her booster seat, Theon was still hugging his gray hoodie to his chest; a little smile on the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, cumrag.”

“Hey, douchenozzle," Damon replied. "I got the beer you wanted.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. It’s at the cabin.”

“The imported shit?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck. Well, great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. That was fast. Thanks.”

“Why can’t we party tonight.”

Ramsay glanced at Theon, who smiled back.

_“Tomorrow.”_

“Ok, but what am I supposed to do-”

“Just don’t drink it all, Damon! It’s not fucking complicated. I’m sorry I can’t drop everything to throw a fucking party the moment you call. Why didn’t you text me on the way back?”

“I was busy.”

“Fucking figure your shit out!” Ramsay hung up. He decided he wasn’t ready to go home. “You guys want to see a movie?”

“I don’t have shoes,” Theon said, apologizing.

“Fucking fine, I’ll get you flip-flops at the Dollar Store.”

Theon grinned.

 

 _“_ Guess we have until tomorrow then _,”_ Damon murmured. He turned to the little Kraken cowering in the backseat of his truck. “So, do you like pepperoni on your pizza?”


	26. Some Velvet Morning

Yawning and stretching, Ramsay woke up on the velvety couch in his front room with Theon wrapped around his leg, his head resting on Ramsay’s thigh. The buzz of his phone was softened by the suede ottoman it sat on. They must have fallen asleep after lunch.

Ramsay leaned over and grabbed his phone.

**DAMON CALLING**

Ramsay rolled his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Still in the cabin. You coming over?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. When?”

“Tonight. I’ll text you later,” Ramsay mumbled. He hung up and tossed the phone back on the ottoman. A stupid movie Theon liked was playing across the open room, which sat between Ramsay’s staircase and bedrooms. A cool light softly fell through his skylights and sparkled on Theon’s lashes.

“Hey.” Ramsay pet Theon’s hair. Taking two of Theon’s fingers, Ramsay rubbed his thumb over Theon’s knuckles. He loved Theon like this too, their flesh comfortably, thoughtlessly entwined. It was as natural as breathing in his scent; the completeness of owning his body.

Theon was out cold, so Ramsay gently pried and slipped his leg free.

He dropped a blanket on Theon’s shoulders and walked down the hall with his hands in his pajama pockets.

 

Ramsay was dressed but found himself sitting at the foot of his bed, not doing anything. Theon’s hoodie hung from the on the back of Ramsay’s door. A piece of real Theon decorating Ramsay’s most private space. _Because he lives here now. Maybe he’s even comfortable or_ \- Ramsay stood and headed to his safe before the uncomfortable feeling could slow him further.

 

“Theon,” Ramsay said softly.

Theon’s light lashes started blinking open. His big aqua eyes rolled up to find Ramsay. “Hi. Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?” Theon sat up rubbing his eye while carefully avoiding his angry nose.

Ramsay was sitting across from him on the ottoman. “This is for you.”

Theon’s vision came into focus on a thick strap of black leather in Ramsay’s outstretched hands. He stilled, unable to look away from it.

“Do you understand what this means?”

“I- I’m yours. I belong to you.”

“Good.”

 _“It has a lock?”_ Theon whispered.

“Come here.”

Theon bent obediently to offer his neck.

“It’s soft inside,” Ramsay murmured. He turned the tiny golden key until it clicked. “Let me see.”

Theon sat up but his gaze stayed low.

“I love it.” Ramsay slid a finger through the silver D ring and pulled Theon into a kiss.

Theon grabbed Ramsay’s knees to steady himself and pulled both legs onto the floor in time to kneel instead of fall.

Ramsay pulled away and lightly touched Theon’s face. “Do you understand what else it means?”

Theon’s Adam's apple bobbed. He shook his head.

Ramsay pulled the ring so that Theon stretched taller and leaned closer.“Yes, you do.”

 

Ramsay led Theon downstairs through the echoey open first floor of the east wing. He stopped by the door when he heard buzzing upstairs. _Fuck._

Theon cocked his head at the sound. “You forgot your phone?”

“No, I left it for my invisible fucking receptionist. Go get it. Hurry the fuck up.”

Theon’s jaw bobbed wordlessly then he hugged his arms to his boney chest and limped upstairs.

 _Oh, yeah._ Father said his ankle wouldn’t heal right if it wasn’t reset. Ramsay liked slowing Theon down, but right now it was, “Useless.” Ramsay shoved Theon into the wall. “Sit.”

Theon cradled the back of his head, where it’d bounced off the plaster. He pressed his other hand against the wall and began to lower himself. “What did I do?”

Ramsay unbuckled his belt. Theon dropped to the floor while it zipped through his belt loops.

Theon cowered into a ball. _“What did I do?”_

Ramsay smirked and knelt beside Theon. He pinched the cool metal buckle between two fingers and traced Theon’s cheekbone with it. “I love you just like this too.” He stood and considered Theon on the floor a moment. “Stay.”

 

Theon rubbed his stinging  eyes with the back of his wrist. He hid his face in his knees and pulled at the collar in the tiny shelter his limbs afforded him.

“What auh you pwaying?”

Theon looked up very slowly. Rosie was peering out of the glass hallway, which connected the east wing to the main entrance, eating animal crackers out of a little red plastic bag.

“Where’s your mother?” Theon glanced toward the staircase. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?” She wondered in anyhow and looked up the stairs to see what Theon was scared of.

“Where’s your mother?” Theon insisted in a low voice.

“In bed. She’s sad. Huah bwudah is dead. Do you know what ‘dead’ means?”

“Uh… yeah. I’m sorry. What about your dad? Is he-”

“Wamsay didn’t wike him.”

“Who?”

“Uncle Jun-yuh.”

“Oh.” Theon kept himself in a tight ball, his nose touching his crossed arms. “How… did he tell you that?”

She shook her head so her black pigtails swung back and forth and ate another cookie. She turned from the staircase and frowned at Theon. “Why can’t, why, why can’t I evuh go upstauhs?”

“Stairs are,” Theon paused to inhale more deeply, “dangerous.”

“Then why auh they in the house?!” She threw up a crumby hand then tilted her head with a patient yet expectant smile.

“You should go.”

“What’s that?!” She squinted at Theon.

He covered his throat with one hand and pressed his scarred forearm to his stomach. _“Nothing.”_

She marched over to Theon as he tried to press himself into the entryway wall.

“I want to pway! Come on! Come onnn! Come with me!” She held out a cookie to entice him and gave it a wiggle. “Pway with me in my woom. You nevuh evuh sawed my woom!”

 _“I can’t,”_ Theon whispered.

“Hey!”

They both turned to look at the staircase.

Ramsay was standing at the top holding his phone to his ear. “Fuck off, I have to go.” He slid the phone into his back pocket then seemed to glide downstairs and appear in front of them before Theon could form a single word of defense of explanation. “He’s **mine**. I’m not sharing him with you!”

“Why?” Rosie stomped and threw down a sheep cracker, which broke in two on the tile floor.

“Go to your room.”

_“Why?!”_

“YOU HAVE YOUR OWN TOYS!”

Rosie’s cherub lips parted. She froze but her pink cheeks turned red.

Theon’s arms sunk to his sides. For a moment, he only felt the cool smooth tile on his elbows, wrists, and palms.

Ramsay took a deep breath and dropped down to one knee. “Go snuggle with your mother. She’s very sad and you’re so good at making her happy.”

Rosie blinked. A fat tear rolled down her red cheek. “I am?”

“Definitely. It’s your superpower. You made Theon feel better yesterday. Even I couldn’t do that.”

“Weuh-wee?” She dropped her animal crackers and rubbed her little round fists in both eyes.

“Really. Go see your mother.”

“WHY can’t I go UPSTAUHS?!” She cried.

“Because you might fall and break your princess crown, sleepy grump.”

Rosie looked up, wide-eyed. “I have a cwown?”

Ramsay nodded and took her hand. “It’s invisible but you can feel the bumps it makes on your head. Feel that?” He guided her finger to trace a circle around the top of her head. They both smiled at each other. “Go snuggle with mother.”

 

Damon popped his cartridge out, clicked it back in, popped out, clicked in, out, in, out, in and stared out the window at the sea of pine. Dark green on the hillside, the trees took on a blue tint on the summit to the west of the cabin.

The wicker chair creaked when he stretched his back and put his legs up on an old footlocker. Skinner would probably jizz his pants over it. “You want a drink?”

The tan pretty Kraken kid smiled wryly. “How much weight you think you have on me?”

Damon snorted. “Shit, kid. You’re like one of my legs.”

“True enough. You may be right.” He sat up on from the wooden bench he’d stretched out on and perched his ass on the edge of the thick rectangular cushion wrapped in a green cotton cover. “I never smelled air like this, all green and sweet like. I never felt such a soft, crisp breeze. I wish you’d let me walk about a bit.”

“No.”

Qarl shrugged and grinned bitterly. “At least the windows are open. So we’re stuck here, both of us, and both bored. Guess how much more you weigh than me. You have a scale? I’ll guess too.”

“No scale.”

“No? Not for, uh, antelope or whatever you kill out here?”

Damon clicked the cartridge back in his gun and set it on his lap. “Not in here. Outside.”

“Well-”

“150 pounds. I bet you’re about 5’ 8”-5’9”-”

“5’ 9”, thanks.”

“And you weigh one fifty… five.” 

Qarl frowned. “Well, fuck me. You could quit the hitman biz, and take that act on the road, you know? Carnivals and shit.”

Damon grinned. “Sure.”

“Starting today by chance?”

“Sorry, kid.”

“Right.” Qarl sat back and smiled ironically.

“What?”

“So you’re almost twice my size.”

“Weight. I’m only a foot taller.”

“Only. Right. So how much-”

“Hold on.” Damon shifted and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Yes. I accept. Hey, man! You getting out?” Damon grabbed his gun and walked into the open kitchenette. “I cannot fucking believe that shit, you lucky little asshole!”

Qarl crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Ok. Cool, cool. Um, I think he changed his number so the bitch wouldn’t recognize it. I don’t have it on me but, um, I’ll tell him the news, ok?”

Qarl stretched and rolled his neck around his shoulders.

“Wait, hold on. Let me write that down. At 3:30? And that’s, uh, Wednesday? Ok. Cool. Bye.”

Damon rummaged through the kitchenette and came back with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and his Desert Eagle .45 in the other. He cracked the top open and tossed it across the room. “Let’s have a drink.”

“Let’s.”

Damon took a swig and passed it.

The full bottle dipped in Qarl’s hand. “So if you’re twice as big, how much more shots do you think I can do than you?”

A light eyebrow rose over Damon’s dancing caramel colored eyes. “Are you serious?” He shot up.

Qarl grabbed the bench and flinched away.

“I’ll get shot glasses!”

 

Ramsay had been unusually quiet the whole trip up through the Lonely Hills, leaving Theon to think. 

It’s not like he didn’t know it. Theon wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t _stupid_. Still, the sentence kept repeating in his head.

‘Toy’ isn’t an insult. Ramsay had called him much worse. He didn’t mean it as an insult. He just... meant it.

Theon didn’t recognize his ghost-like reflection in the passenger window of Ramsay’s car.

When Robb came back from basic, he’d lost 30 pounds and all his curly auburn hair was gone. The first thing Theon said to him when they met in baggage claim was, “Who ARE you?”

Robb had looked better than this.

_Who the fuck am I?_

 

Ramsay turned onto a steep gravel road.

Theon’s stomach dropped.

“We’re here.” Ramsay parked the car and stared straight ahead.

“Where?”

“The cabin.” Ramsay cut the engine. “Get out.”


	27. A Rose in Your Teeth

“What is this?”

Ramsay got out of the car and slammed his door.

“What’s happening?”

Ramsay threw open the passenger door.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“YOU did this!” Grabbing Theon’s shirt collar with both hands, Ramsay yanked him out of the car and threw him to the ground. “YOU did it to _ME_!”

Theon pushed himself up on one elbow. “Did _what_?”

“YOU-” Ramsay’s voice cracked. He sneered as he swallowed and pulled himself taller. “You were _happy_ when they took you away from me. I knew it. I KNEW it! Don’t think I didn’t know. I don’t love anyone but you. You pissed on that and fucking threw me away anyhow.”

“I was afraid of you,” Theon cried. A dry crumbling leaf fell from his hair. “You hurt me!”

“Then you hurt me. Now I’m hurting you. Want to keep playing? I think you should quit before it gets really bad. I’ll always win. I’ll burn the fucking world down until all you have is me if I have to.”

Theon slowly sat up in cold earth and thin grass and squinted at Ramsay. “What is that?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Ramsay, I’m serious. Look at the sky.”

Ramsay took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. Then he spun around.

Puffs of smoke drifted up from the forest.

“ _Damn it, Damon._ ” Ramsay pulled a gun from the back of his pants and placed it in Theon’s hand. “Get back in the car. Lock the doors and wait for me.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Now, Theon. _Stay.”_

 

The thick rubber soles of Ramsay’s boots were soft and malleable. Careful not to make a sound on the uneven forest floor, he felt every twig as he crept through the trees.

Damon’s truck lay uneven at the bottom of a craggy hollow. It’s black hood was wrapped around an impervious White Cedar. The smoke had nearly stopped. It must have happened a little while ago.

Damon’s door was open.

Ramsay’s ears picked up. Something was scraping and crawling up the damp earth.

 

Qarl grabbed at a patch of thick weeds hanging over the ravine’s edge. It separated into ghosts two then rejoined itself, blurry and shaky.

His hot stomach wretched. Bile croaked and hiccuped out of his mouth as his spinning head sank into the strange Northern earth. Cold water trickled through a shallow brook at his feet.

He heard a metallic click behind him, turned, and slid back down the steep drop, reddish brown mud smearing his dumb arms and chest. “Damn it!”

“Hello, little Kraken.” A pale, compact, athletic boy with shining gray eyes brandished a knife with a blood red handle. He stood on the other bank of this gash through the wooded mountain looking down on Qarl and the stolen truck he’d wrecked. “You don’t look so pretty now with a broken nose, blood on your busted forehead, vomit and shit all over you. How did you end up in Damon’s truck without Damon?”

“He’s dying in the cabin. Maybe you can stop the bleeding if you go now.”

“Super. I had a whole thing planned, which you fucking ruined. I was going to make an important point in a memorable fashion. What the shit? Are you drunk?”

“Wouldn’t you be if you were me?”

“I wouldn’t be you at all.” Ramsay lifted the ruby knife to his ear.

Qarl spun and ran down the ravine. His wobbling feet splashed through the brook five times before he cried out and came crashing down.

He pushed himself up and spat wet dirt out of his mouth. A thin line of crayon red snaked through round pebbles and idly spinning leaves in the chilly stream. Qarl looked over his shoulder and saw the ruby handle sticking out of the back of his knee.

Ramsay jumped down and walked over to collect his knife. “Could you wait here for me?” With some twisting and yanking he pulled his knife out of the Kraken boy, who was screaming more from a delirious rejection of his circumstances than from pain.

Ramsay has a fine ear for such differences.

He held the whore’s knee between his boots and used both hands to snap his ankle. “Thanks for waiting.” Qarl probably couldn’t hear him, but Ramsay still reassured him, “I’ll be back for you.”

He dropped the Kraken’s foot and left it in the brook at a Picasso angle.

_That will slow him down._

 

Ramsay kicked into and stomped down on some soft earth and pulled himself up by a branch-sized root slithering out of the hillside.

He dropped instinctively when the branch above it exploded into flying chips.

Qarl leveled Damon’s gun at Ramsay’s chest. His hands were unsteady but he was clearly experienced and determined.

“Well, fuck.” A high-pitched ring drowned out his own voice. Ramsay pushed into the earth behind him and tensed. 

Quarl jerked as red misted out of the back of his head. He crumpled and dropped into the gentle stream. A splatter of crimson painted the wall of clay behind him.

Ramsay looked up.

Theon stood above him on the edge of the ravine. He said something Ramsay couldn’t hear.

“I’m fine. I was going to serpentine, shit bag. That little slut was drunk off his ass anyway.”

Theon said something else.

Ramsay couldn’t read his lips, but read his face all the same. “Calm down, you fucking pussy. I told your ass to stay in the car.” Ramsay retrieved Damon’s gun from the Kraken’s uncooperative corpse, grinning to himself while Theon couldn’t see.

 _How do you like that, you little dick wart? He killed you so you couldn’t hurt me. “_ Who’s pretty now, bitch?” Ramsay muttered.

 

When Ramsay climbed back up out of the ravine, Theon was ready to cry about something but Ramsay stopped him. “Shut up. Give me that.” Ramsay snatched his gun from Theon’s hand. “I know you’re sorry. Let’s go. Damon’s dead or dying.”

Ramsay marched back to the cabin with quick, light steps.

 

Theon threw up his hands. “That’s what _I_ said!” He looked back at Qarl’s body. “What do we do with that? Ramsay?”

It was getting dark, darker still under the forest canopy.

Theon hurried as best he could to try and catch up.

 

Ramsay listened and scanned the cabin before entering.

Damon was slumped to one side in his favorite chair. Ramsay had bought it for the cabin because it was big enough to support Damon’s head and high enough that he could get in and out of it easily.

Now Damon’s blood had puddled underneath it. At least it was a small puddle.

Damon’s head moved.

“Oh, shit,” Theon gasped.

“Hey, I heard that!” Ramsay glanced back at Theon and smiled. “Good for me.”

Theon’s face was long and red around the eyes. “Ramsay…”

“I know, puppy.” Ramsay put a hand on Damon’s dandelion hair. “Hey. Where did he get you?”

Damon looked up with rolling eyes. He smiled, and though he had shrunk somehow and was white and hollow, he still looked like the same charming, indifferent giant with a boyish twinkle in his eye. “My stomach.”

Ramsay sat on the old footlocker facing his friend. “Shit.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s good. What the fuck happened?”

“I blacked out. The little cunt drank me under the table and took my gun.” Damon shook his head. “Crazy…”

Ramsay swallowed hard and darkened. “Well, damn it, Damon. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I told you I needed you; remember that? What do I do without a Damon? I’m fucked. You _fucked_ me.”

Damon shook his head again. His eyes weren’t focused anymore. “You have better people than me.”

“I have Theon but I need a brother I can trust.”

Damon coughed and laughed. He closed his eyes. “Gods, Ramsay. Domeric never touched Jeyne even though she liked him better because he wouldn’t _do_ that to you.”

“What?”

“It was me. You killed my kid, you asshole.”

Ramsay stood and pulled his gun. He put a bullet through Damon’s forehead before Theon could stop him.

Theon stood frozen, shaking, looking around for something to say or do.

Ramsay sat back down and sighed.

Theon heard himself making fevered noises but couldn’t stop them. “I… I’m sorry, Ramsay.”

“Yeah.” Ramsay clicked the safety on his gun and set it down on the locker beside him. “Do you remember BTM?”

“Um,” Theon blinked and pinched his brow. “The guy that Dick brought to take care of Junior?”

“Yeah. Do you know what BTM stands for?”

“No.”

“Bad Things Man. We only call him when bad things happen. I’m going to call Dick and BTM and pay them a shit ton of money.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Ramsay tapped his foot and flexed his jaw. It was a fetus anyway, not a kid like Rosie. “Should I just burn it all down instead? The cabin, with Damon and the Kraken in it?”

“That would bring the police or forest rangers, I think.”

Ramsay kept tapping his foot.

“You told me we’re playing ‘keep Ramsay out of prison’, remember?”

Ramsay gave a nod and took a deep breath. “Right.” He stood and hooked the ring on Theon’s neck with one finger then pulled him close. “Theon, do you love me?”

“Yes.” Theon put his forehead to Ramsay’s. “I love you.”

“Let’s go home. I’ll make the call from there.”

Theon reached for Ramsay. He held his mercurial face in both trembling hands. “Ok. I want to stay with you.”

Ramsay smiled and blinked. “Good.”

“I want to you to stay too, Ramsay. Don’t leave me.”

Ramsay kissed Theon and wrapped an arm under his ass to lift Theon up onto his hips. “Good boy.”

He carried Theon to the bedroom and threw him on one of the lower bunks. “I’m not leaving and you’re not getting away. That’s the point of all this.”

”I understand.”

”Do you?”

”Yes.”

”Yes, _what_?”

Damon’s corpse collapsed onto the floor while Ramsay ripped Theon’s pants off. 


	28. I Guess I Forgive You

Ramsay ripped through Theon’s clothes. Theon lifted his arms above his head and his ass of the mattress to make it easier. When Ramsay fell onto him, Theon caught him. Ramsay lifted him, cradling the small of his back and repositioned him.

Theon’s lips parted when Ramsay pulled the ring on his collar. Ramsay grabbed a bar from the top bunk’s frame and pinned Theon’s shoulders with both knees. His tongue worked with Ramsay’s thrusts.

When Theon was ready to suck him dry, Ramsay pulled out and worked his way between Theon’s cheeks.

He kissed Theon and thrust, pounding into him like he was trying to break the distance separating them forever.

When he started to lose his steadily building rhythm to growing juggernaut of demand throbbing through him, Ramsay bent down, bit at Theon’s ear and rasped, _“Who's ever fucked you like I do?”_

Theon’s eyes rolled back. He held onto Ramsay’s ribs. “No one.”

Ramsay bent, pinning Theon with his gripping stare. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Ramsay.”

“I love you, _what_?”

“Master.”

Ramsay bit his lip and tore into Theon. _“Say it.”_

Theon’s eyes screwed shut. His body was singing as he gasped, “I love you, Master.”

Ramsay bit Theon where his delicate neck met his shoulder and came inside him.

Theon’s head rolled back, his brow placid with bliss.

Ramsay pulled out and turned Theon on his side then wrapped around him, holding him tight. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Uh-uh,” Theon agreed. He drifted off, intensely happy.

 

When Theon woke up, Ramsay’s arm was still draped over his shoulders.

“Are you awake?”

Theon smirked and closed his eyes. “How did you know?”

“You slept much more than I did in prison. I learned how you breathe when you’re sleeping, when you’re pretending to sleep, and when you’re having a nightmare.” Ramsay traced the tattoos on Theon’s back. “I don’t think I can call Dick and BTM this time,” Ramsay mumbled.

Theon peered over his shoulder. “Why?”

“It’s _Damon._ Everyone likes Damon.”

“But, Qarl shot him first.” Theon tried to flip over and face Ramsay, but Ramsay him in place.

“What if they all betray me? I need someone I can trust. I thought that was Damon.”

“Call him.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“Yeah. Did you ever find out who it was?” He let Theon roll over this time.

“Who what was?”

“Whoever brought your family to South America in the forties.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Was it someone bad?”

“He raised money for the party with, uh-”

“Other people’s property?”

“Yeah.” Theon rubbed the scars on his forearm. “At first I thought, it could be worse but… it’s not like he was swept up in the same tide as everyone else or drafted into anything; he was, like, an early investor. And he died old and rich on a green mountain in Argentina.”

“Well, do you feel different now that you know?”

“Yeah. I guess the shadow has a form now so it’s easier to deal with. It can’t grow out of control in the back of my mind. It’s boxed in and limited.” Theon sucked on his bottom lip and rolled his big aqua eyes up to meet Ramsay’s. “Do you feel different about me?”

Ramsay burst out laughing. “You idiot! You didn’t even DO it! I just shot my best friend in the FACE, Theon.” Ramsay stopped laughing and rolled onto his back, resting his head on his hands.

Theon pressed his face to Ramsay’s side.

“He was lying, you know. He was in pain so he pissed me off to end it quickly.”

“Oh…” Theon nodded. His hair and forehead tickled Ramsay’s ribs.

“It was pretty fucking selfish.”

“Well… at least you put an end to his suffering.”

“Yeah. Now I get to feel like an _asshole_ the rest of the day.” Ramsay sat up looking bitter. “The guys really liked Damon.”

Theon sat up too. “Do you want me to call him?”

Ramsay looked at Theon and shoved him back down then punched his stomach.

“Ow!” Theon curled up. “Ramsay!”

“ _Ow! Ramsay!”_ Ramsay pinched and smacked Theon who rolled and twitched under the attack. “Enough fucking around. **I’ll** call him.”

“Ok.”

“I don’t need your bitch ass help.”

“Ok.”

“I’m not a pussy like you, Theon.”

“Nope.”

“I don’t need you for shit.”

Theon tried not to smile. “Right.”

Ramsay smiled back and pulled his boxers on. “Idiot.”

 

Domeric stood over Damon’s corpse, brow creased and thin lips pressed together.

Ramsay stood next to him with his arms crossed and jaw squared.

 

“I liked Damon,” Domeric said at last.

“EVERYONE liked Damon!” Ramsay threw his hands up. “Damon! Damon! Fucking Damon!” He pointed at Damon’s blueish blind face. “I’m glad you’re dead and I’d do it again!”

Domeric took off his jacket and folded it neatly on the couch. “Alright. Let’s get a wheelbarrow.”

 

Ramsay and Domeric both dropped a handle. Dust puffed around Damon’s arm, dirty from being dragged through the woods. The brothers and Theon sat down in front of the yawning mineshaft to catch their breath.

“It’s so dark in there,” Theon said quietly.

Domeric ran a hand through his black hair.

“You know what’s funny?” Ramsay said looking at both of them. “Damon used to love doing this.”

“That’s funny?”

“Shut up, Dom.”

“Should we say something?” Theon suggested, still staring into the bleak hole.

“Don’t fuck me over or I’ll toss your corpse down an abandoned mineshaft. There, I said something.” Ramsay climbed to his feet and grabbed a handle.

“Nice.” Domeric stood and grabbed the other one. They lifted the wheelbarrow together.

Theon looked away but heard the sound of fabric sliding across metal. He didn’t hear Damon land though.

“I’ll take it back.” Domeric pushed the wheelbarrow toward the cabin.

Ramsay pulled Theon up to standing and followed, keeping a firm hold of Theon’s wrist. “You know, there was another body but I took care of that one. So, you’re welcome, Dom.”

“What happened, Ramsay?”

“You’re asking now? _After_ you helped me hide the body?”

“That’s right.” Domeric glanced back and looked Ramsay over. “That’s why you called me. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“He fucked me over.”

Domeric nodded. “Sorry to hear that.”

Ramsay snuck a quizzical look at Theon then frowned and trudged ahead to catch up with his brother. “Why?”

Domeric came to a stop.

Ramsay stopped next to him.

Domeric’s brow was pinched in anger but quickly eased. His eyes dropped. “I’ll tell you at home.”

The corner of Ramsay’s mouth quirked. “Alright.”

 

Domeric poured them each a glass of wine, once they’d showered and dropped themselves onto the couches upstairs.

Theon wrapped around Ramsay’s leg and laid his head on Ramsay’s thigh, wearing his favorite hoodie.

Ramsay idly pet his hair and helped himself to the rest of Theon’s glass.

Domeric rested his chin in his hand and watched the wispy orange flames dance and disappear in the fireplace, in the room where, he found, he still belonged.

“Why don’t you ever hate me?” Ramsay asked again.

Domeric shook his head. “I understand you too well. I’ve seen you care.”

“Yes, I know,” Ramsay grumbled. Theon breathing slowed to a deep, steady pace.

“And I’ve seen you vulnerable and horrified. I never have forgotten it. It will bother me until I die, far more than tossing a friend’s body into the abyss ever will. How’s that for messed up?” Domeric remarked dryly.

“Not impressive. As far as being crazy.”

Domeric set his glass down. “The summer before my first year of high school,” Domeric paused and cleared his throat, “you were going into Kindergarten in the fall. You were always very smart. _Clever,_ Father would say. I have no idea what I did to piss you off. I think it had something to do with a video game but, anyway, I made myself a bowl of ice cream and sat down to eat it. You asked me to get you chocolate milk or something. Eventually, I come back and, it’s funny- I can see this part _so clearly_ \- I sit on the silver couch we used to have downstairs. The ice cream is here, on my left, on that glass end table you broke later. I went to take a bite and stopped because you were so calm suddenly. I looked closer I saw you put something in my bowl. Do you remember?”

Ramsay stared into the fire and shook his head.

Domeric’s chest heaved but he continued in a low voice. “I think it rubbing alcohol. I took the bowl to Father and complained. He seemed so calm. I didn’t think about it. I was mad. I didn’t think…”

Domeric finished his glass then poured himself more wine. He frowned deeply. “I fell asleep on the couch downstairs and woke up that night to this _sound._ Splashing. Water thrashing down the glass hallway. The next thing I remember is opening the bathroom door. Father’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub… I see his face like I see that fire. He didn’t even look angry. Its like he’s just washing his hands. He says, ‘Go back to bed’ and I’m standing there…” Domeric shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what I did either. That’s all I remember. I wish I could remember getting you out of there and taking you to your mother’s, carrying you on foot if I had to. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t ask him about it. You were so little...”

“You called my mom and said I shouldn’t live here anymore,” Ramsay said mechanically.

Domeric nodded.

“I didn’t know that was why.”

Domeric smiled sadly. He gasped, his shoulders crunching in, and covered his mouth.

Ramsay looked away. “I know you woke up.”

Theon looked up at him with large glossy eyes.

Domeric coughed into his fist and sat up straight. “I tried to get you to come live with me but Roose has plans for you. Nagging you to be nice to me was his way of making sure you resented my presence.

“Not the only way,” Ramsay laughed bitterly.

“I know. So, no, I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you for the games Roose plays. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“I get it already. I get it, Dom.” Ramsay drummed his fingers on Theon’s shoulder. “Let’s get Rosie.”

Domeric raised an eyebrow. “It has to be past midnight.”

Ramsay stood up and pushed Theon so he stayed on the couch. “I’ll get her. She’ll be so happy to see you. Stay the night, Dom.”

Domeric ran his fingers through his sleek hair.

“You’re staying!” Ramsay announced as he marched downstairs.

“We’ll see,” Domeric muttered into his cup. He glanced at Theon after taking a drink. “Want some more?”


	29. You'll Always be Home for Me

After Domeric poured Theon a glass of wine, he bent at the far end of the couch, grabbed a red blanket, and tossed it in Theon’s lap.

He sat down and let his arctic blue eyes wander to the fire’s glow. “How are you holding up here?”

Theon finished downing his glass. Luckily, Domeric had left the bottle within reach. “I think, um, not that bad.”

Domeric peered over from the corner of his eye and twisted the base of his long-stemmed glass back and forth on the loveseat’s chenille tweed arm. “Really?”

Theon topped off his glass. “Well… it’s like, if you’ve been bitten by a mountain lion a few times…” Theon unrolled and snapped the blanket open then pulled it up to his chest.

“A mountain lion?”

“Yeah, especially as a kid, then everytime you sit in a nice safe clearing next to a warm bright fire, you still don’t really relax, you know?”

“No?”

“No. Every single time there's a rustle in the bush or a twig snaps behind the treeline, you search the shadows for the next lion. A bunny can come hopping out, a barrel of money can roll into the clearing, or the person of your dreams can walk out, and all you can think is, ‘Okay, _where is the fucking lion?_ ’ How are you supposed to do anything when the next rustle in the shadows could be it; the violent end.”

Domeric gave a slow solemn nod.

“So, I guess, a lion finally came out into the light and sat beside me in the warmth and light of the fire and, well, now I’m not waiting for a lion anymore. It’s here and… I dunno.” Theon shook his head.

“He doesn’t want to eat you?” Domeric said, raising his eyebrows.

Theon laughed. “I hope not.”

Domeric smiled back. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t? Even after tonight?”

“I…” Domeric set his glass down and faced Theon. “No, I don’t think so. Does Ramsay feel manageable to you?”

“Like a manageable crisis. Yeah. That’s about where I am.”

Domeric pressed his thin lips together. “Do you… _need_ anything?”

“I’m not asking for help.”

“I don’t suppose you are.” Domeric kept studying him. “You can if you need to… one day.”

Theon offered a smile, which dried up as his heart began pounding. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Frowning, Dom poured himself more wine. “I didn’t mean to hurt your pride. I’m sorry, Theon.”

“No. Seriously.”

Domeric sighed into reclining and took a few gulps from his long-stemmed glass.

“Have you seen a dead body before?”

“Obviously.”

“Have you buried one before?”

“Not in the hands-on sense, no.”

“Are _you_ a murderer?”

“No. _Not yet, at this rate_ ,” Domeric mumbled.

Theon sat up and shoved the blanket down into his lap. “Are you nice?”

“No, not really.”

“Yes, you fucking are. Why? Why aren’t you an asshole?”

“I can be.”

“NO.” Theon stood while Dom remained unmoved. “Why aren’t you a fucking psycho?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is Ramsay?”

Domeric drank and stared at the flames.

“What’s _wrong_ with him?!”

“He’s getting better.”

“Why aren’t YOU sick? Why did you get everything good? Why did you get all the love?”

Domeric looked at Theon then. “Love isn’t finite. It’s not a thing, but a reaction _between_ things so it doesn’t divide, it spreads like fire. You are loved, Theon. So is he.”

Theon found the seat with his palm first then fell onto it. _“What’s wrong with me?”_

“I’m not a psych-”

“What do you think, though?”

“I think, for such a sensitive person, you’ve coped well with a hard life because you’re remarkably adaptive. And that lifesaving strength comes with… features.”

“What does that mean?”

“Some of your adaptations turned into issues themselves. That happens.”

“Like, what?” Theon pulled the blanket up to cover his neck. “You think I’m **sick** and that’s why…”

“Listen, right now I’m shocked that I’m not shocked. I’m disgusted with myself for not being disgusted. _I knew it._ I didn’t want to know but I knew what he is all along. I have no interest and no room in my head for judging you, Theon.” His long white fingers went gliding through his smooth midnight hair. “I’m honestly not sure what I am but, for whatever it's worth,  I think you’ll make this work and you’re the only one who could.”

“Really?”

“That’s what I think, but I’m not going to ask you to trust a Bolton.” Domeric smiled weakly and finished off his glass.

“Well… I-I didn’t mean to-”

“Damawick!”

They both jumped and turned to see Ramsay on the landing with Rosie squirming on his hip. Ramsay swung her around and held her up above his head so she couldn’t get away. “I thought I was your favorite?”

“WAMSAY! I nevuh see hium!”

“I know,” Ramsay cooed, sickly sweet. “Because I love you more!”

 _“Ramsay,”_ Domeric snapped.

“Who’s your favorite brother ever?”

“You’re using her to manipulate me into staying, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Rosie’s chubby legs started running to Domeric before Ramsay even set her down.

When she leaped into Domeric’s chest he grinned and wrapped his arms around her.

Ramsay set a plastic bag on the coffee table and sat next to Theon. “I found lots of leftovers in the fridge.”

Domeric pulled out a white takeout box. “Are you hungry? You should be asleep, silly.”

Rosie jumped up and down on the loveseat. “IT’S! A! SLEEP OVUH!”

“Domeric wanted to leave you out.”

“Ramsay shouldn’t have woken you up.”

“Daddy did.”

“What?” Domeric shot a narrow glare at Ramsay. “Roose is here? Awake?”

Ramsay looked up from the fried rice he’d been shoveling into his mouth. “Yee-ah.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Uh huh.”

“Damn it, Ramsay!”

“What’s wong?” Rosie pled wide-eyed, gripping Domeric’s cotton undershirt with both round fists.

Domeric pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“He’s afraid,” Ramsay said gently. He sat on the arm of the loveseat, glanced over at Theon hiding the collar they’d all seen anyway and winked. “He thinks the house is full of ghosts.”

“GHOSTS!” Rosie laughed. “Ghosts awen’t weal!”

Domeric smirked. “Promise?”

“Yeah! I pwomise!” Rosie offered her pinky.

“Alright.” Domeric almost wrapped his hooked pinky around hers but pulled it away at the last second. “Will you stay with me to be sure?”

“Yeah!” Rosie giggled.

Ramsay got up from the loveseat while his half-siblings pinkie swore.

“Let’s pway a game!”

Ramsay slid onto the couch and yanked Theon close. Theon’s fingers slid under Ramsay’s cotton shirt, up his chest, as if he’d felt the first bloom of Ramsay’s pain and knew his touch was the antidote.

“Let’s do impwessions!”

“Aw, you just want to watch Ramsay,” Domeric pouted goodnaturedly.

“Yeah!” Rosie giggled. She collapsed into Domeric when he tickled her side.

Ramsay grinned, all put back together when Theon looked up at him with smiling eyes.  He squeezed Theon with both arms. “Who do you want me to do first?”

“Um… Drogo.”

“You liked that?” Ramsay jabbed Theon’s side under the blanket. “Where?” he asked Rosie.

“Uhhhh… getting ice cweam!”

Domeric eyed the empty wine bottle with a frown. “Who is Drogo?”

“Someone we met in prison.”

“Oh, good,” Domeric said dryly.

But he laughed the loudest.

 

Domeric woke to his shoulder being shaken. As his eyes blinked open and adjusted to the early morning light, Rosie’s warmth was pulled off his chest.

He sat up and stretched.

Roose looked down at him, his expression a clear and uncompromising demand, Rosie’s raven waves tucked into the nape of his neck. Her soft little arm hung around her father’s shoulder.

Domeric stood and laid the blanket over Rosie’s shoulders once Roose laid her down on the loveseat.

Ramsay and Theon were limp, dreaming together, wrapped around each other on the couch.

Roose beckoned Domeric with a finger.

 

Downstairs, in the west wing, Domeric sat on a creaking barstool and helped himself to a steaming mug of black coffee.

Roose stood across the high top breakfast bar from him, both his cold hands sprawling their long white fingers across the black marble countertop. “So now you’ve seen for yourself.”

Domeric glanced up and tightened the belt on his plush robe. “I’m guessing Ramsay told you what happened last night?”

“While you were helping him dispose of his best friend’s corpse, what made you believe he wouldn’t use that gun on you?”

“What’s the incentive? I was helping him.”

Roose pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to bury you, Domeric.”

“I know,” Domeric mumbled.

“You’re a good brother but your loyalty is ill-placed. It belongs, first, to _me_.”

“I’m not your enemy.”

“That’s not good enough. Why do you trust Ramsay more than me?”

“I don’t think that’s true. I believe you want what you think is best for me.”

“You’re angry at me, but you’ve forgiven him. Remember your first horse, Lysander? Do you blame me for his slow death?”

“Well…”

“Do you think I performed vivisection on your cat, d’Artagnan?”

Domeric shuddered.

Garik and Ada, Roose’s pampered, sleek, silver white-bellied cats slept together in a plush little bed by the heating vent.

“No.”

“But you blame me for it. And for what he did to your Tyrell friend.”

“Your genes, if nothing else.”

“ _Our_ genes. You are also my son.” Roose sighed and came around the breakfast bar to sit on a barstool next to Domeric. “What do you think about your sister?”

Domeric’s mug clattered against the black marble before he firmly set it down. “What do you mean?”

“You see it too.”

“No.” Domeric sat up straight. “She’s bright and strong-willed. She’s also a warm and loving child. She’s not _impulsive_ like Ramsay.”

“No, Rosaline is thoughtful like her mother and a planner like me. What do you think about Theon?”

“I like him. I think he’s good for Ramsay.”

Roose nodded. “And Walda. That means a good deal to me.”

Domeric’s brow furrowed, unsure and uncomfortable. “Are you asking me for something?”

Roose’s thin lips widened in a dry smile. “I almost told you that you’ll understand at my age, but that would have been a self-serving lie. You’ve always been a kind old man in a supremely competent young man’s body. I thought I saw other people clearly because I could assess their motivations and capabilities, but I didn’t really see them until recently. I feel Rosaline has softened me. I’m asking you to help me with her.”

“Help?”

“And with Ramsay. I want my house in order. Have you considered my offer?”

Domeric rubbed his mouth and shifted his weight onto one elbow. “Yes.”

“Good.” Roose’s eyes narrowed. “You’re too pale.”

“We’re all pale.”

“At least Ramsay had the sense or good fortune to take someone who will take care of him. You’re too old to be a bachelor.”

“I know.”

“I’m ready to begin relinquishing control of Bolton Industries. Wednesday evening Ramsay and Theon are going to sit in on an _informal_ meeting. I’d like you to be there as well.”

“Why?”

“I want your assessment and I want you to start your non-profit consumer-” Roose strained not to roll his eyes, “-advocacy firm. Don’t you want to help people, Domeric?”

“Mmm,” he agreed, holding his head.

“What’s wrong with you?” Roose placed the back of his hand on Domeric’s forehead.

The cold touch and dense weight of his long slender hand always alarmed Domeric. “Dad!” he protested and pulled away.

“When was your last echocardiogram?”

“Uh… less than a year. It’s fine.”

Roose’s sharp, bright gray eyes narrowed again. “That’s how your mother died.”

“I know,” Domeric said softly.

“She was a very good person.”

“Yes.” Domeric rubbed his heavy head.

“We didn’t know she had a congenital defect, Domeric. I didn’t know. I would have paid any cost to keep her.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I, listen, I need to lay down.”

Roose raised an eyebrow. “ _That’s_ your apology to me? Whatever you may think of me, you know I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“Yes-”

“Didn’t I take care of you? Haven’t I always? **Well**?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Ramsay isn’t like you. Helping him requires going extreme lengths; like dumping a boy’s body down a mine shaft. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father.”

“He’s alive, he’s not killing innocent people, and he’s not in prison. He’s even happy, though he was once made of anger. Have I failed him so criminally?”

“No, Father. I’m sorry! I’ll go! I’ll go to the meeting!”

“And move back onto the estate.”

“No!”

“Go lay down for a while.”

“That’s what I was going to do,” Domeric slowly stood, holding his head.

“Stop.”

“Yes?” Domeric asked through gritted teeth. He steadied himself, gripping the breakfast bar.

Roose filled a glass with ice and cold water from the refrigerator. “That boy, Ludwig-”

“Luton.”

“He’s doing well.” Roose brought the glass to Domeric and offered it with a smile. “That’s good, isn’t it? Take this with you. You need to drink some water.”

Domeric eyed Roose for a moment. “Yes, Father.”

Roose clapped his son’s shoulder when he took the glass. “That’s a good boy.”

 

Wednesday morning, Theon was reassuring Ramsay, straightening his tie and laughing at his jokes. “You’ll do great.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?”

 

Domeric played the piano for Roose while he finished writing his proposal.

 

Miles away, Alyn was sitting on a bench outside of Newt Firell. He breathed in the wind and dirt and stared down the long, empty road, waiting for Damon to pick him up.


End file.
